In My Lodge at Wang Chuan

The woods have stored the rain， and slow comes the smoke

As rice is cooked on faggots and carried to the fields；

Over the quiet marsh-land flies a white egret，

And mango-birds are singing in the full summer trees……

I have learned to watch in peace the mountain morningglories，

To eat split dewy sunflower-seeds under a bough of pine，

To yield the post of honour to any boor at all……

Why should I frighten sea gulls， even with a thought？