THOSE friends of Lao-Tzu, those wise old men
Dozing all day in lemon-silken robes,
With tomes of beaten jade spread knee to knee,
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Thy meditations in that utter void To which all human deeds resolve at last....' So runs the burden of their thousand songs. Here, in this dark Star-Chamber of the soul, very fine poem
But I am tired of hoarding up the grist Of anger, and remember Lao-Tzu. Revenge is empty to the Taoist, And tears of penitence a futile toll! .. very good poem.