In My Lodge at Wang-Ch’uan after a Long Rain

The woods have stored the rain, and slow comes the smoke
As rice is cooked on faggots and carried to the fields;
Over the quiet marshland flies a white egret,
And mango-birds are singing in the full summer trees.

I have learned to watch in peace the mountain morning- glories,
To eat split dewy sunflower-seeds under a bough of pine,
To yield the place of honor to any boor at all.
Why should I frighten sea-gulls even with a thought?