斩鸡栖木

South of my cottage, I opened a small garden plot,

The soil level and fertile, as if richly wrought.

Last year I planted peach and plum trees there,

This year their blossoms bloom, abundant and fair.

The gardener, uncomprehending of the case,

Beside them planted a roosting tree in that space.

Rain nourished its branches, made them thick and wide,

The wind blew, spreading its leaves and flowers aside.

It rather used the force of wind and rain,

As if to bully peach and plum, to cause them pain.

The peach and plum, unable to hold their own,

Bowed low their lovely faces, their beauty overblown.

A guest came from somewhere, I know not where,

Pointing and calling with a stern and critical air.

Said he, "You treat fragrant flowers and stinking weeds the same,

Your muddled confusion lies herein to blame."

"Grass and trees are distinguished by their kind,

Just as the lovely and the ugly we must mind."

I bowed twice, thanking him for his intent,

And strove to cut the intruder down, my effort spent.

The peach and plum now breathe an air so fine,

Joyful and vibrant, as if they knew the design.

Yet in this old man's heart, a dislike still remains,

A regret that cannot be undone, that forever stains.

How vast is Heaven and Earth, so broad and wide,

Nourishing and encompassing all things that abide.

Can beauty and ugliness ever be made the same?

Both receive the gift of the primal force, its aim.

I take up my brush to record this affair,

To chastise my own petty and selfish care.