But in nirvana, springtime never arrives

From David Hinton’s translation of Li Po – The Selected Poems of Li Po

Written on a wall at Hsiu-Ching Monastery in Wu-Ch’ang

Now a monastery on southern river-banks,
this was once my northern kinsman’s home.

There’s no one like him now.  Courtyards
empty, monks sit deep in temple silence.

His books remain, bound in ribbon-grass,
and white dust blankets his ch’in stand.

He lived simply, planting peach and plumb,
but in nirvana, springtime never arrives.

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