Did Chuang Tzu dream
he was a butterfly,
Or the butterfly
that he was Chuang Tzu?

In one body’s
metamorphoses,
All is present,
infinite virtue!

You surely know
Fairyland’s oceans
Were made again
a limpid brooklet,

Down at Green Gate
the melon gardener
Once used to be
Marquis of Tung-ling?

Wealth and honour
were always like this:
You strive and strive,
but what do you seek?

Li Po
translated by Arthur Cooper

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