定风波·莫听穿林打叶声

On the seventh day of the third month, on the road at Shahu, I met with rain. The rain-gear had been sent on ahead, and my companions were all in sorry case — I alone took no heed. Presently the sky cleared, and so I made this piece.

Pay no heed to the sound that beats through the forest and strikes the leaves — why not chant and whistle, and walk slowly on? Bamboo staff, straw sandals: lighter than a horse. Who is afraid? In one cloak of coir, I will take the misty rain for the whole of my life.

The keen spring wind brings me out of my drunkenness, and there is a little chill; on the hill-top the slanting sunlight comes to meet me. I turn and look back to where I came through the bleakness: I go home — and there is neither wind nor rain nor clear sky.