(1200–1253)
LONGER than the tails
of wandering mountain pheasants
on foot-tiring hills,
the long night lies before me,
though it too leads into dawn.
[S.H.]
EVEN without hearts
and minds, plants wither
with the passing days.
Seeing just how this is so,
we feel a little ashamed.
[S.H.]
CAST away all speech.
Our words may express it,
but cannot hold it.
The way of letters leaves no trace,
yet the teaching is revealed.
[S.H.]