茅庵欹欲倒， 倩老树撑扶， 白云环绕。 林深无客到， 有涧底呜泉， 谷中幽鸟。 清风来扫， 扫落叶尽归炉灶。 好闭门煨芋挑灯， 灯尽芋香天晓。
非矫， 也亲贵胄， 也踏红尘， 终归霞表。 残衫破衲， 补不彻， 缝不了。 比世人少却几茎头发， 省得许多烦恼。 向佛前烧炷香儿， 闲眠一觉。
Tune: Jui-ho hsien (An
Immortal on an Auspicious Crane) Title:
The Monk Cheng
Hsien
The
thatched temple, leaning toward collapse, Is
supported by an ancient tree, Encircled
by white clouds. The
forest deep, no visitors arrive, But
a spring babbles at the bottom of the brook In
the valley of hidden birds. Gentle
winds come to sweep And
sweep the fallen leaves into the stove, So
he may close the door, bake potatoes, trim the lamp. The
lamp expires, potatoes smell sweet, day dawns.
No
fakery— Though
he hobnobs with nobility. Though
he treads the red dust, Still
he always returns to the rosy clouds; Tattered
shirt, frazzled patches, Unmendable, Unsewable. He
has less hair than a man of the world, But
fewer troubles, too. He
lights incense before the Buddha, Takes
a nap at ease.
（Jan W. Walls 译） |
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