Tender orchid-leaves in spring And cinnamon- blossoms bright in autumn Are as self- contained as life is, Which conforms them to the seasons. Yet why will you think that a forest-hermit, Allured by sweet winds and contented with beauty, Would no more ask to-be transplanted THan Would any other natural flower?
Here, south of the Yangzi, grows a red orangetree. All winter long its leaves are green, Not because of a warmer soil, But because its\' nature is used to the cold. Though it might serve your honourable guests, You leave it here, far below mountain and river. Circumstance governs destiny. Cause and effect are an infinite cycle. You plant your peach-trees and your plums, You forget the shade from this other tree.
DOWN ZHONGNAN MOUNTAIN TO THE KIND PILLOW AND BOWL OF HUSI Li Bai
Down the blue mountain in the evening, Moonlight was my homeward escort. Looking back, I saw my path Lie in levels of deep shadow…. I was passing the farm-house of a friend, When his children called from a gate of thorn And led me twining through jade bamboos Where green vines caught and held my clothes. And I was glad of a chance to rest And glad of a chance to drink with my friend…. We sang to the tune of the wind in the pines; And we finished our songs as the stars went down, When, I being drunk and my friend more than happy, Between us we forgot the world.
From a pot of wine among the flowers I drank alone. There was no one with me -- Till, raising my cup, I asked the bright moon To bring me my shadow and make us three. Alas, the moon was unable to drink And my shadow tagged me vacantly; But still for a while I had these friends To cheer me through the end of spring…. I sang. The moon encouraged me. I danced. My shadow tumbled after. As long as I knew, we were boon companions. And then I was drunk, and we lost one another. …Shall goodwill ever be secure? I watch the long road of the River of Stars.
春思 李白
燕草如碧丝， 秦桑低绿枝。 当君怀归日， 是妾断肠时。 春风不相识， 何事入罗帏。
IN SPRING Li Bai
Your grasses up north are as blue as jade, Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches; And at last you think of returning home, Now when my heart is almost broken…. O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you, Why part the silk curtains by my bed?
What shall I say of the Great Peak? -- The ancient dukedoms are everywhere green, Inspired and stirred by the breath of creation, With the Twin Forces balancing day and night. …I bare my breast toward opening clouds, I strain my sight after birds flying home. When shall I reach the top and hold All mountains in a single glance?
It is almost as hard for friends to meet As for the morning and evening stars. Tonight then is a rare event, Joining, in the candlelight, Two men who were young not long ago But now are turning grey at the temples. …To find that half our friends are dead Shocks us, burns our hearts with grief. We little guessed it would be twenty years Before I could visit you again. When I went away, you were still unmarried; But now these boys and girls in a row Are very kind to their father\'s old friend. They ask me where I have been on my journey; And then, when we have talked awhile, They bring and show me wines and dishes, Spring chives cut in the night-rain And brown rice cooked freshly a special way. …My host proclaims it a festival, He urges me to drink ten cups -- But what ten cups could make me as drunk As I always am with your love in my heart? …Tomorrow the mountains will separate us; After tomorrow-who can say?
Who is lovelier than she? Yet she lives alone in an empty valley. She tells me she came from a good family Which is humbled now into the dust. …When trouble arose in the Kuan district, Her brothers and close kin were killed. What use were their high offices, Not even shielding their own lives? -- The world has but scorn for adversity; Hope goes out, like the light of a candle. Her husband, with a vagrant heart, Seeks a new face like a new piece of jade; And when morning-glories furl at night And mandarin-ducks lie side by side, All he can see is the smile of the new love, While the old love weeps unheard. The brook was pure in its mountain source, But away from the mountain its waters darken. …Waiting for her maid to come from selling pearls For straw to cover the roof again, She picks a few flowers, no longer for her hair, And lets pine-needles fall through her fingers, And, forgetting her thin silk sleeve and the cold, She leans in the sunset by a tall bamboo.
There are sobs when death is the cause of parting; But life has its partings again and again. …From the poisonous damps of the southern river You had sent me not one sign from your exile -- Till you came to me last night in a dream, Because I am always thinking of you. I wondered if it were really you, Venturing so long a journey. You came to me through the green of a forest, You disappeared by a shadowy fortress…. Yet out of the midmost mesh of your snare, How could you lift your wings and use them? …I woke, and the low moon\'s glimmer on a rafter Seemed to be your face, still floating in the air. …There were waters to cross, they were wild and tossing; If you fell, there were dragons and rivermonsters.
This cloud, that has drifted all day through the sky, May, like a wanderer, never come back…. Three nights now I have dreamed of you -- As tender, intimate and real as though I were awake. And then, abruptly rising to go, You told me the perils of adventure By river and lake-the storms, the wrecks, The fears that are borne on a little boat; And, here in my doorway, you rubbed your white head As if there were something puzzling you. …Our capital teems with officious people, While you are alone and helpless and poor. Who says that the heavenly net never fails? It has brought you ill fortune, old as you are. …A thousand years\' fame, ten thousand years\' fame- What good, when you are dead and gone.
TO QIWU QIAN BOUND HOME AFTER FAILING IN AN EXAMINATION Wang Wei
In a happy reign there should be no hermits; The wise and able should consult together…. So you, a man of the eastern mountains, Gave up your life of picking herbs And came all the way to the Gate of Gold -- But you found your devotion unavailing. …To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers, You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities. I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital -- Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend. In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood You will float again toward your own thatch door, Led along by distant trees To a sunset shining on a far-away town. …What though your purpose happened to fail, Doubt not that some of us can hear high music.
送别 王维
下马饮君酒， 问君何所之。 君言不得意， 归卧南山陲。 但去莫复闻， 白云无尽时。
AT PARTING Wang Wei
I dismount from my horse and I offer you wine, And I ask you where you are going and why. And you answer: \"I am discontent And would rest at the foot of the southern mountain. So give me leave and ask me no questions. White clouds pass there without end.\"
I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers, Borne by the channel of a green stream, Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains On a journey of less than thirty miles…. Rapids hum over heaped rocks; But where light grows dim in the thick pines, The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns And weeds are lush along the banks. …Down in my heart I have always been as pure As this limpid water is…. Oh, to remain on a broad flat rock And to cast a fishing-line forever!
In the slant of the sun on the country-side, Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; And a rugged old man in a thatch door Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy. There are whirring pheasants? full wheat-ears, Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves. And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, Hail one another familiarly. …No wonder I long for the simple life And am sighing the old song, Oh, to go Back Again!
Since beauty is honoured all over the Empire, How could Xi Shi remain humbly at home? -- Washing clothes at dawn by a southern lake -- And that evening a great lady in a palace of the north: Lowly one day, no different from the others, The next day exalted, everyone praising her. No more would her own hands powder her face Or arrange on her shoulders a silken robe. And the more the King loved her, the lovelier she looked, Blinding him away from wisdom. …Girls who had once washed silk beside her Were kept at a distance from her chariot. And none of the girls in her neighbours\' houses By pursing their brows could copy her beauty.
ON CLIMBING ORCHID MOUNTAIN IN THE AUTUMN TO ZHANG Meng Haoran
On a northern peak among white clouds You have found your hermitage of peace; And now, as I climb this mountain to see you, High with the wildgeese flies my heart. The quiet dusk might seem a little sad If this autumn weather were not so brisk and clear; I look down at the river bank, with homeward-bound villagers Resting on the sand till the ferry returns; There are trees at the horizon like a row of grasses And against the river\'s rim an island like the moon I hope that you will come and meet me, bringing a basket of wine -- And we\'ll celebrate together the Mountain Holiday.
IN SUMMER AT THE SOUTH PAVILION THINKING OF XING Meng Haoran
The mountain-light suddenly fails in the west, In the east from the lake the slow moon rises. I loosen my hair to enjoy the evening coolness And open my window and lie down in peace. The wind brings me odours of lotuses, And bamboo-leaves drip with a music of dew…. I would take up my lute and I would play, But, alas, who here would understand? And so I think of you, old friend, O troubler of my midnight dreams !
AT THE MOUNTAIN-LODGE OF THE BUDDHIST PRIEST YE WAITING IN VAIN FOR MY FRIEND DING Meng Haoran
Now that the sun has set beyond the western range, Valley after valley is shadowy and dim…. And now through pine-trees come the moon and the chill of evening, And my ears feel pure with the sound of wind and water Nearly all the woodsmen have reached home, Birds have settled on their perches in the quiet mist…. And still -- because you promised -- I am waiting for you, waiting, Playing lute under a wayside vine.
WITH MY BROTHER AT THE SOUTH STUDY THINKING IN THE MOONLIGHT OF VICE-PREFECT CUI IN SHANYIN Wang Changling
Lying on a high seat in the south study, We have lifted the curtain-and we see the rising moon Brighten with pure light the water and the grove And flow like a wave on our window and our door. It will move through the cycle, full moon and then crescent again, Calmly, beyond our wisdom, altering new to old. …Our chosen one, our friend, is now by a limpid river -- Singing, perhaps, a plaintive eastern song. He is far, far away from us, three hundred miles away. And yet a breath of orchids comes along the wind.
AFTER MISSING THE RECLUSE ON THE WESTERN MOUNTAIN Qiu Wei
To your hermitage here on the top of the mountain I have climbed, without stopping, these ten miles. I have knocked at your door, and no one answered; I have peeped into your room, at your seat beside the table. Perhaps you are out riding in your canopied chair, Or fishing, more likely, in some autumn pool. Sorry though I am to be missing you, You have become my meditation -- The beauty of your grasses, fresh with rain, And close beside your window the music of your pines. I take into my being all that I see and hear, Soothing my senses, quieting my heart; And though there be neither host nor guest, Have I not reasoned a visit complete? …After enough, I have gone down the mountain. Why should I wait for you any longer?
Thoughtful elation has no end: Onward I bear it to whatever come. And my boat and I, before the evening breeze Passing flowers, entering the lake, Turn at nightfall toward the western valley, Where I watch the south star over the mountain And a mist that rises, hovering soft, And the low moon slanting through the trees; And I choose to put away from me every worldly matter And only to be an old man with a fishing-pole.
Here, beside a clear deep lake, You live accompanied by clouds; Or soft through the pine the moon arrives To be your own pure-hearted friend. You rest under thatch in the shadow of your flowers, Your dewy herbs flourish in their bed of moss. Let me leave the world. Let me alight, like you, On your western mountain with phoenixes and cranes.
ASCENDING THE PAGODA AT THE TEMPLE OF KIND FAVOUR WITH GAO SHI AND XUE JU Cen Can
The pagoda, rising abruptly from earth, Reaches to the very Palace of Heaven…. Climbing, we seem to have left the world behind us, With the steps we look down on hung from space. It overtops a holy land And can only have been built by toil of the spirit. Its four sides darken the bright sun, Its seven stories cut the grey clouds; Birds fly down beyond our sight, And the rapid wind below our hearing; Mountain-ranges, toward the east, Appear to be curving and flowing like rivers; Far green locust-trees line broad roads Toward clustered palaces and mansions; Colours of autumn, out of the west, Enter advancing through the city; And northward there lie, in five graveyards, Calm forever under dewy green grass, Those who know life\'s final meaning Which all humankind must learn. …Henceforth I put my official hat aside. To find the Eternal Way is the only happiness.
TO THE TAX-COLLECTORS AFTER THE BANDITS RETREAT Yuan Jie In the year Kuimao the bandits from Xiyuan entered Daozhou, set fire, raided, killed, and looted. The whole district was almost ruined. The next year the bandits came again and, attacking the neighbouring prefecture, Yong, passed this one by. It was not because we were strong enough to defend ourselves, but, probably, because they pitied us. And how now can these commissioners bear to impose extra taxes? I have written this poem for the collectors\' information.
I still remember those days of peace -- Twenty years among mountains and forests, The pure stream running past my yard, The caves and valleys at my door. Taxes were light and regular then, And I could sleep soundly and late in the morning- Till suddenly came a sorry change. …For years now I have been serving in the army. When I began here as an official, The mountain bandits were rising again; But the town was so small it was spared by the thieves, And the people so poor and so pitiable That all other districts were looted And this one this time let alone. …Do you imperial commissioners Mean to be less kind than bandits? The people you force to pay the poll Are like creatures frying over a fire. And how can you sacrifice human lives, Just to be known as able collectors? -- …Oh, let me fling down my official seal, Let me be a lone fisherman in a small boat And support my family on fish and wheat And content my old age with rivers and lakes!
ENTERTAINING LITERARY MEN IN MY OFFICIAL RESIDENCE ON A RAINY DAY Wei Yingwu
Outside are insignia, shown in state; But here are sweet incense-clouds, quietly ours. Wind and rain, coming in from sea, Have cooled this pavilion above the lake And driven the feverish heat away From where my eminent guests are gathered. …Ashamed though I am of my high position While people lead unhappy lives, Let us reasonably banish care And just be friends, enjoying nature. Though we have to go without fish and meat, There are fruits and vegetables aplenty. …We bow, we take our cups of wine, We give our attention to beautiful poems. When the mind is exalted, the body is lightened And feels as if it could float in the wind. …Suzhou is famed as a centre of letters; And all you writers, coming here, Prove that the name of a great land Is made by better things than wealth.
SETTING SAIL ON THE YANGZI TO SECRETARY YUAN Wei Yingwu
Wistful, away from my friends and kin, Through mist and fog I float and float With the sail that bears me toward Loyang. In Yangzhou trees linger bell-notes of evening, Marking the day and the place of our parting…. When shall we meet again and where? …Destiny is a boat on the waves, Borne to and fro, beyond our will.
A POEM TO A TAOIST HERMIT CHUANJIAO MOUNTAIN Wei Yingwu
My office has grown cold today; And I suddenly think of my mountain friend Gathering firewood down in the valley Or boiling white stones for potatoes in his hut…. I wish I might take him a cup of wine To cheer him through the evening storm; But in fallen leaves that have heaped the bare slopes, How should I ever find his footprints!
ON MEETING MY FRIEND FENG ZHU IN THE CAPITAL Wei Yingwu
Out of the east you visit me, With the rain of Baling still on your clothes, I ask you what you have come here for; You say: \"To buy an ax for cutting wood in the mountains\" …Hidden deep in a haze of blossom, Swallow fledglings chirp at ease As they did when we parted, a year ago…. How grey our temples have grown since them!
Furling my sail near the town of Huai, I find for harbour a little cove Where a sudden breeze whips up the waves. The sun is growing dim now and sinks in the dusk. People are coming home. The bright mountain-peak darkens. Wildgeese fly down to an island of white weeds. …At midnight I think of a northern city-gate, And I hear a bell tolling between me and sleep.
From office confinement all year long, I have come out of town to be free this morning Where willows harmonize the wind And green hills lighten the cares of the world. I lean by a tree and rest myself Or wander up and down a stream. …Mists have wet the fragrant meadows; A spring dove calls from some hidden place. …With quiet surroundings, the mind is at peace, But beset with affairs, it grows restless again…. Here I shall finally build me a cabin, As Tao Qian built one long ago.
TO MY DAUGHTER ON HER MARRIAGE INTO THE YANG FAMILY Wei Yingwu
My heart has been heavy all day long Because you have so far to go. The marriage of a girl, away from her parents, Is the launching of a little boat on a great river. …You were very young when your mother died, Which made me the more tender of you. Your elder sister has looked out for you, And now you are both crying and cannot part. This makes my grief the harder to bear; Yet it is right that you should go. …Having had from childhood no mother to guide you, How will you honour your mother-in-law? It\'s an excellent family; they will be kind to you, They will forgive you your mistakes -- Although ours has been so pure and poor That you can take them no great dowry. Be gentle and respectful, as a woman should be, Careful of word and look, observant of good example. …After this morning we separate, There\'s no knowing for how long…. I always try to hide my feelings -- They are suddenly too much for me, When I turn and see my younger daughter With the tears running down her cheek.
READING BUDDHIST CLASSICS WITH ZHAO AT HIS TEMPLE IN THE EARLY MORNING Liu Zongyuan
I clean my teeth in water drawn from a cold well; And while I brush my clothes, I purify my mind; Then, slowly turning pages in the Tree-Leaf Book, I recite, along the path to the eastern shelter. …The world has forgotten the true fountain of this teaching And people enslave themselves to miracles and fables. Under the given words I want the essential meaning, I look for the simplest way to sow and reap my nature. Here in the quiet of the priest\'s templecourtyard, Mosses add their climbing colour to the thick bamboo; And now comes the sun, out of mist and fog, And pines that seem to be new-bathed; And everything is gone from me, speech goes, and reading, Leaving the single unison.
I had so long been troubled by official hat and robe That I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland. I am a neighbour now of planters and reapers. I am a guest of the mountains and woods. I plough in the morning, turning dewy grasses, And at evening tie my fisher-boat, breaking the quiet stream. Back and forth I go, scarcely meeting anyone, And sing a long poem and gaze at the blue sky
