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 bough¹ of pine，

　　To yield the post of honour to any boor² at all……

　　Why should I frighten sea gulls³， even with a thought？