The mountains are far away from the extremity, and the sky is limited to the southwest since the past.
The beacon quietly guards the building and the fox goes up to the house, the wind is noisy and the ancient cranes startled the group.
The sideways stone is dangerous and the horse is in danger, and the deep lock Xiongguan cold protects the cloud.
Chi Yu Shengping still feels dangerous, and who reminisces about the old general.
To say you are lovely is to say no more,
Than what ten thousand must have said before;
To say that beauty and her handmaid grace,
Attend your footsteps and illume your face,
Is truth, dear maid! in the most literal sense,
Your form possessing every excellence:
Yet face and shape may be pourtray’d by art;
But who can paint the beauties of your heart,
The glow of tenderness and filial joy,
That only fervent bliss without alloy,
Which sweetly mantles on your virgin cheek,
Whene’er your honour’d father’s name you speak?—
Thus, heavenly maid! the reason is reveal’d
Why every artist in your likeness fail’d;
Their earthy pencils could not draw the line
Between mere beauty and the rays divine,
That prove your form all lovely and refin’d,
The casket only of a lovelier mind.
We present this work in honor of the Japanese holiday, National Foundation Day.
skylark in the heavens…
what do you think
of the boundless sky?
When your kiss hovers on my lips,
And each of my nerves trembles,
When your cheek lies hot on my cheek,
And your breast clings to mine,
Ha! who can say then exactly what I feel,
And maybe this is a deep sin,
My fearful soul calls often with a shudder,
And yet with passionate lingering
My mouth stays glowing at your lips,
Hotter grows my cheek, instead of fleeing
I press you drunkenly more firmly to my breast,
Oh what holds me more strongly—Do you know, by best one?
We present this work in honor of the Japanese holiday, Labor Thanksgiving Day.
In the thicket’s shade
a woman by herself
singing the rice-planting song.
After the storm and tossing of the waves,
After all the dangers of the voyage,
There is no hesitation for the seamen
To enter the peaceful port.
Let it even be unknown!
Let it not be on the map!
The thought, the hope is delightful for them,
There to free themselves from troubles.
And if then they discover by a glance
On the shore, friends, kinsmen,
“Oh happiness!” they exclaim
And fly into their arms.
Life! thou art sea and tossing of the waves!
Death! thou art port and peace!
There will be the reunion
Of those separated here by the wave.
I see, I see… you beckon
Us to the mysterious shores!…
Dear shadows! Keep
A place near you for your friends!
Lying is an occupation,
Used by all who mean to rise;
Politicians owe their station,
But to well concerted lies.
These to lovers give assistance,
To ensnare the fair-one’s heart;
And the virgin’s best resistance
Yields to this commanding art.
Study this superior science,
Would you rise in Church or State;
Bid to Truth a bold defiance,
‘Tis the practice of the great.
We present this work in honor of the 230th anniversary of the poet’s death.
My young days were oppressed with cares,
On summer mornings I sat there,
Sighing my poor stammered song.
Not for a young man was my melody,
No! for God who the crowds of men does see
As if they were an anthill’s throng.
Without emotions, as I’ve often said,
Without affection, I was wed,
Became a mother, as in times of war
A young girl would not trust love’s bliss,
On whom a soldier forced his kiss,
Whose army reigned as conqueror.
We present this work in honor of the 230th anniversary of the poet’s death.
The fable which I now present,
Occurred to me by accident:
And whether bad or excellent,
Is merely so by accident.
A stupid ass this morning went
Into a field by accident:
And cropped his food, and was content,
Until he spied by accident
A flute, which some oblivious gent
Had left behind by accident;
When, sniffling it with eager scent,
He breathed on it by accident,
And made the hollow instrument
Emit a sound by accident.
“Hurrah, hurrah!” exclaimed the brute,
“How cleverly I play the flute!”
A fool, in spite of nature’s bent,
May shine for once, by accident.
If one did not stop in the shadows of things,
the heart would be illuminated by the sun of gnosis.
If it were not for shackles and obstacles,
the suns of realities would be seen to shine.
If there were neither individual will nor free will,
the shadow of otherness would withdraw from the heart.
If there were not passions and desires,
aspirations would become real in less than the wink of an eye.
If there were not bad tendencies and defects,
invisible secrets would make themselves manifest.
Without the struggle with oneself,
the secret of the elect would not appear.
Without the company of true men,
no one knows how to distinguish imperfection from perfection.
Without the company of the great,
the hearts and their depths cannot be purified.
Without the service of true men,
no one can reach the degrees of perfection.
Poets Corner 