宏智禪師廣錄 8.107

8.107

The moon hare holds purity, about to spew forth frost; / A traveler's breast clings to old habits, taking flight for home. / Who says the defilements of names and words are swept clean away? / I smile at having perfumed them into the incense of views. / Gathering stones as disciples, their heads readily nod; / Awakening to emptiness and able to expound, the meaning is hard to measure. / Arriving home, hold the fly-whisk and preach according to the occasion; / Do not brandish the rule against other faculties.