It’s too cold,
too hot,
too late in the evening—
people who say this,
shirking their work:
The moment passes them by.
Whoever regards cold & heat
as no more than grass,
doing his manly duties,
won’t fall away
from ease.
With my chest
I push through wild grasses—
spear-grass,
ribbon-grass,
rushes—
cultivating a heart
bent on seclusion.
It’s too cold,
It’s too cold,too hot,
too hot,too late in the evening—
too late in the evening—people who say this,
shirking their work:
The moment passes them by.
Whoever regards cold & heat
as no more than grass,
doing his manly duties,
won’t fall away
from ease.
Whoever regards cold & heat
as no more than grass,
doing his manly duties,
won’t fall away
from ease.
With my chest
I push through wild grasses—
spear-grass,
ribbon-grass,
rushes—
cultivating a heart
bent on seclusion.
With my chest
I push through wild grasses—
spear-grass,
ribbon-grass,
rushes—
cultivating a heart
bent on seclusion.
Origin URL: https://www.dhammatalks.org/suttas/KN/Thag/thag3_5.html