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?