If you do not care for merry meetings； if you must have peace； weary heart； we shall put our lamps out and silence our harps。
We shall sit still in the dark in the rustle of leaves； and the tired moon will shed pale rays on your window。
O traveller； what sleepless spirit has touched you from the heart of the mid…night？
The Gardener 64
I spent my day on the scorching hot dust of the road。
Now； in the cool of the evening； I knock at the door of the inn。 It is deserted and in ruins。
A grim ashath tree spreads its hungry clutching roots through the gaping fissures of the walls。
Days have been when wayfarers came here to wash their weary feet。
They spread their mats in the courtyard in the dim light of the early moon； and sat and talked of strange lands。
They work refreshed in the morning when birds made them glad； and friendly flowers nodded their heads at them from the wayside。
But no lighted lamp awaited me when I came here。
The black smudges of smoke left by many a forgotten evening lamp stare； like blind eyes； from the wall。
Fireflies flit in the bush near the dried…up pond； and bamboo branches fling their shadows on the grass…grown path。
I am the guest of no one at the end of my day。
The long night is before me； and I am tired。
The Gardener 65
Is that your call again？
The evening has e。 Weariness clings around me like the arms of entreating love。
Do you call me？
I had given all my day to you； cruel mistress； must you also rob me of my night？
Somewhere there is an end to everything ； and the loneness of the dark is one’s own。
Must your voice cut through it and smite me？
Has the evening no music of sleep at your gate？
Do the silent…winged stars never climb the sky above your pitiless tower？
Do the flowers never drop on the dust in soft death in your garden？
Must you call me； you unquiet one？
Then let the sad eyes of love vainly watch and weep。
Let the lamp burn in the lonely house。
Let the ferry…boat take the weary labourers to their home。
I leave behind my dreams and I hasten to your call。
The Gardener 66
园丁集 第十二章（2）
A wandering madman was seeking the touchstone； with matted locks tawny and dust…laden； and body worn to a shadow； his lips tight…pressed； like the shut…up doors of his heart； his burning eyes like the lamp of a glow…worm seeking its mate。
Before him the endless ocean roared。
The garrulous waves ceaselessly talked of hidden treasures； mocking the ignorance that knew not their meaning。
Maybe he now had no hope remaining； yet he would not rest； for the search had bee his life—
Just as the ocean for ever lifts its arms to the sky for the unattainable—
Just as the stars go in circles； yet seeking a goal that can never be reached—
Even so on the lonely shore the madman with dusty tawny locks still roamed in search of the touchstone。
One day a village boy came up and asked； “Tell me； where did you e at this golden chain about your waist？”
The madman started—the chain that once was iron was verily gold； it was not a dream； but he did not know when it had changed。
He struck his forehead wildly—where； O where had he without knowing it achieved success？
It had grown into a habit； to pick up pebbles and touch the chain； and to throw them away without looking to see if a change had e； thus the madman found and lost the touchstone。
The sun was sinking low in the west； the sky was of gold。
The madman returned on his footsteps to seek anew the lost treasure； with his strength gone； his body bent； and his heart in the dust； like a tree uprooted。
The Gardener 67
Though the evening es with slow steps and has signalled for all songs to cease；
Though your panions have gone to their rest and you are tired；
Though fear broods in the dark and the face of the sky is veiled；
Yet； bird； O my bird； listen to me； do not close your wings。
That is not the gloom of the leaves of the forest； that is the sea swelling like a dark black snake。
That is not the dance of the flowering jasmine； that is flashing foam。
Ah； where is the sunny green shore； where is your nest？
Bird； O my bird； listen to me； do not close your wings。
The lone night lies along your path； the dawn sleeps behind the shadowy hills。
The stars hold their breath counting the hours； the feeble moon swims the deep night。
Bird； O my bird； listen to me； do not close your wings。
There is no hope； no fear for you。
There is no word； no whisper； no cry。
There is no home； no bed for rest。
There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky。
Bird； O my bird； listen to me； do not close your wings。
There is no hope； no fear for you。
There is no word； no whisper； no cry。
There is no home； no bed for rest。
There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky。
Bird； O my bird； listen to me； do not close your wings。
The Gardener 68
None lives forever； brother； and nothing lasts for long。 Keep that in mind and rejoice。
Our life is not the one old burden； our path is not the one long journey。
园丁集 第十二章（3）
One sole poet has not to sing one aged song。
The flower fades and dies； but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it forever。
Brother； keep that in mind and rejoice。
There must e a full pause to weave perfection into music。
Life droops toward its sunset to be drowned in the golden shadows。
Love must be called from its play to drink sorrow and be borne to the heaven of tears。
Brother； keep that in mind and rejoice。
We hasten to gather our flowers lest they are plundered by the passing winds。
It quickens our blood and brightens our eyes to snatch kisses that would vanish if we delayed。
Our life is eager； our desires are keen； for time tolls the bell of parting。
Brother； keep that in mind and rejoice。
There is not time for us to clasp a thing and crush it and fling it away to the dust。
The hours trip rapidly away； hiding their dreams in their skirts。
Our life is short； it yields but a few days for love。
Were it for work and drudgery it would be endlessly long。
Brother； keep that in mind and rejoice。
Beauty is sweet to us； because she dances to the same fleeting tune with our lives。
Knowledge is precious to us； because we shall never have time to plete it。
All is done and finished in the eternal Heaven。
But earth’s flowers of illusion are kept eternally fresh by death。
Brother； keep that in mind and rejoice。
The Gardener 69
I hunt for the golden stag。
You may smile； my friends； but I pursue the vision that eludes me。
I run across hills and dales； I wander through nameless lands； because I am hunting for the golden stag。
You e and buy in the market and go back to your homes laden with goods； but the spell of the homeless winds has touched me I know not when and where。
I have no care in my heart； all my belongings I have left far behind me。
I run across hills and dales； I wander through