He who is in harmony with the Taois like a newborn child.Its bones are soft, its muscles are weak,but its grip is powerful.It doesn't know about the unionof male and female,yet its penis can stand erect,so intense is its vital power.It can scream its head off all day,yet it never becomes hoarse,so complete is its harmony.The Master's power is like this.He lets all things come and goeffortlessly, without desire.He never expects results;thus he is never disappointed.He is never disappointed;thus his spirit never grows old.
I am Not, but the Universe is my Self.
The Tao Te Ching is partly in prose, partly in verse; but as we define poetry now, not by rhyme and meter but as a patterned intensity of language, the whole thing is poetry. I wanted to catch that poetry, its terse, strange beauty. Most translations have caught meanings in their net, but prosily, letting the beauty slip through. And in poetry, beauty is no ornament; it is the meaning. It is the truth. We have that on good authority.