The single sound of the bell
brings out the whole hall's monks.
Golden glint of the Buddha's face
almost the flash of a lamp.
The Bodhisattva Dragon Tree is silent,
the wind has died away . . .
The robes of the monks cast shadows,
as the moon begins to rise.
No need to chant the Sutras
to make the flowers giggle . . .
As I lean and listen carefully
even the stones respond.
How can the Buddha, King of Emptiness,
boast of setting the whole world free?
Here, when Spring comes,
he hasn't freed even half this pond
from thinking long on love.
- Yuan Mei
I Don't Bow to Buddhas