His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
~ Emily Dickinson
Poor, deluded Shawondasee!
'T was no woman that you gazed at,
'T was no maiden that you sighed for,
'T was the prairie dandelion
That through all the dreamy Summer
You had gazed at with such longing,
You had sighed for with such passion,
And had puffed away forever,
Blown into the air with sighing.
Ah! deluded Shawondasee!
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
If you have one teapot
And can brew your tea in it
That will do quite well.
How much does he lack himself
Who must have a lot of things?
~ Sen no Rikyū
Painting: Teapot with Cherry or Plum Blossoms (ca. 1750-1850) - Japanese Art Collection - Library of Congress
'Tis strange how men find time to hate,
When life is all too short for love.
~ W. H. Davies
Photo: Posted on 29 Aug 2016 by Reddit user RealLiveGirl with the caption: "My Grandma, 96, with my Grandpa, 100, hours before her death this weekend. 77 years of marriage."
Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and do not learn. Your poetry issues of its own accord when you and the object have become one – when you have plunged deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there. However well-phrased your poetry may be, if your feeling is not natural – if the object and yourself are separate – then your poetry is not true poetry but merely your subjective counterfeit.
~ Matsuo Basho