Old Poem

        Did Chuang Chou dream he was the butterfly?
        Or the butterfly dream he was Chuang Chou?
        In the single body’s transformations
        See the vortex of the Myriad Creatures.
        No mystery then that the Magic Seas
        Shrank again to crystal streams,
        Or down by Ch’ang-an’s Green Gate
        The gardener was Marquis of Tung-Ling.
        If this is the fate of fame and power,
        What is it for—  this endless striving?