Yuan Mei: Illusion

’Tis we that wail the hour of birth, ’Tis others weep the hour we die. If I am sad, ’tis others sing; Should they lament, I will be feasting. All flows, all passes, like yon stream; Like yonder wind-wheel all revolves. We change the fire-drill, changing not the fire; New lamps or old, what matters it? ’Tis laughable that all men flock in crowds To worship Buddhas and the Genii; Austerities mean cramp and weariness, And genuflections to the Rites a headache. ’Tis but a tangle of marsh-lights after all, We cannot seize the shadow of the wind. What if the gods made answer to our prayers? With shouts of laughter I should drive the crowd.