English translation of 300 Selected Poems from Tang Dynasty
Zhang Jiuling
THOUGHTS I
A lonely swan from the sea flies, To alight on
puddles it does not deign. Nesting in the poplar of pearls It
spies and questions green birds twain: "Don't you fear the threat
of slings, Perched on top of branches so high? Nice clothes
invite pointing fingers, High climbers god's good will defy.
Bird-hunters will crave me in vain, For I roam the limitless
Zhang Jiuling
ORCHID AND ORANGE I
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?
Zhang Jiuling
THOUGHTS III
The hermit in his lone abode Nurses his thoughts
cleansed of care, Them he projects to the wild goose For it to
his distant Sovereign to bear. Who will be moved by the sincerity
Of my vain day-and-night prayer? What comfort is for my
loyalty When fliers and sinkers can compare?
Zhang Jiuling
ORCHID AND ORANGE II
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
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
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.
DRINKING ALONE WITH THE MOON
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 shado
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.
Your grasses up north are as blue as jade, Our
mulberries here curve green- 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?
A VIEW OF TAISHAN
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?
TO MY RETIRED FRIEND WEI
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
But now these boys and girls in a row Are very kind to their
father's old friend. They ask me where I hav
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 mounta After tomorrow-who
ALONE IN HER BEAUTY
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 Hope goes
out, like the light of a candle. Her husband, with a vagrant
heart, Seeks a new face like 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
SEEING Li Bai IN A DREAM I
There are sobs when death is
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
If you fell, there were dragons and rivermonsters.
SEEING Li Bai IN A DREAM II
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 bo 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.
AT PARTING
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."
TO QIWU QIAN BOUND HOMEAFTER FAILING IN AN
EXAMINATION
In a happy reign there
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.
A GREEN STREAM
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 h 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!
A FARM-HOUSE ON THE WEI RIVER
In the slant of the sun on the country-side,
Cattle and sheep trail 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!
THE BEAUTIFUL XI SHI
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.
Meng Haoran
ON CLIMBING ORCHID MOUNTAIN IN THE AUTUMN TO
On a northern peak among white clouds You have
found you 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
I look down at the river bank, with
homeward-bound villagers Resting on the sand till the ferry
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.
Meng Haoran
IN SUMMER AT THE SOUTH PAVILION THINKING OF
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 !
Meng Haoran
AT THE MOUNTAIN-LODGE OF THE BUDDHIST PRIEST YE
WAITING IN VAIN FOR MY FRIEND DING
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.
Wang Changling
WITH MY BROTHER AT THE SOUTH STUDY THINKING IN THE
MOONLIGHT OF VICE-PREFECT CUI IN SHANYIN
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
To your hermitage here on the top of the mountain
I have climbed, without stopping, these ten miles. I have
knocked at your door, 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
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?
A BOAT IN SPRING ON RUOYA LAKE
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
slanti And I choose to put away from me every
worldly matter And only to be an old man with a fishing-pole.
Chang Jian
AT WANG CHANGLIN' S RETREAT
Here, beside a clear deep lake, You live
a 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
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 Birds fly down beyond our sight,
And the rapid wi Mountain-ranges, toward
the east, Appear to be curving and Far
green locust-trees line broad roads Toward clustered palaces and
Colours of autumn, out of the west, Enter advancing
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
RETREATIn 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 bandi 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!
Wei Yingwu
ENTERTAINING LITERARY MEN IN MY OFFICIAL RESIDENCE
ON A RAINY DAY
Outside are insignia, 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
And all you writers, coming here, Prove that the name
of a great land Is made by better things than wealth.
Wei Yingwu
SETTING SAIL ON THE YANGZI TO SECRETARY
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.
Wei Yingwu
A POEM TO A TAOIST HERMIT CHUANJIAO
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
But in fallen leaves that have heaped the bare slopes,
How should I ever find his footprints!
Wei Yingwu
ON MEETING MY FRIEND FENG ZHU IN THE
Out of the east you visit me, With the rain of
Baling still on your clothes, I ask you what you have come here
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!
Wei Yingwu
MOORING AT TWILIGHT IN YUYI
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.
Wei Yingwu
EAST OF THE TOWN
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
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
Wei Yingwu
TO MY DAUGHTER ON HER MARRIAGE INTO THE YANG
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
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 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
Liu Zongyuan
READING BUDDHIST CLASSICS WITH ZHAO AT HIS TEMPLE
IN THE EARLY MORNING
I clean my teeth in water dr
And while I brush my clothes, I 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 And now comes the sun, out of mist and
fog, And pines that seem to be new- And everything is
gone from me, speech goes, and reading, Leaving the single unison.
Liu Zongyuan
DWELLING BY A STREAM
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.
Wang Changling
AT A BORDER-FORTRESS
Cicadas complain of thin mulberry-trees In the
Eighth-month chill at the frontier pass. Through the gate and back
again, all along the road, There is nothing anywhere but yellow
reeds and grasses And the bones of soldiers from You and from Bing
Who have buried their lives in the dusty sand. ...Let never a
cavalier stir you to envy With boasts of his horse and his
horsemanship
Wang Changling
UNDER A BORDER-FORTRESS
Drink, my horse, while we cross the autumn water!-
The stream is cold and the wind like a sword, As we watch
against the sunset on the sandy plain, Far, far away, shadowy
Lingtao. Old battles, waged by those long walls, Once were
proud on all men's tongues. But antiquity now is a yellow dust,
Confusing in the grasses its ruins and white bones.
THE MOON AT THE FORTIFIED PASS
The bright moon lifts from the Mountain of Heaven
In an infinite haze of cloud and sea, And the wind, that has
come a thousand miles, Beats at the Jade Pass battlements....
China marches its men down Baideng Road While Tartar troops
peer across blue waters of the bay.... And since not one battle
famous in history Sent all its fighters back again, The
soldiers turn round, looking toward the border, And think of home,
with wistful eyes, And of those tonight in the upper chambers
Who toss and sigh and cannot rest.
BALLADS OF FOUR SEASONS: SPRING
The lovely Lo Fo of the western land Plucks
mulberry leaves by the waterside. Across the green boughs
stretche In golden sunshine her rosy robe is
dyed. "my silkworms are hungry, I cannot stay. Tarry not with
your five-horse cab, I pray."
BALLADS OF FOUR SEASONS: SUMMER
On Mirror Lake outspread for miles and miles, The
lotus lilies in full blossom teem. In fifth moon Xi Shi gathers
them with smiles, Watchers o'erwhelm the bank of Yuoye Stream.
Her boat turns back without waiting moonrise To yoyal house
amid amorous sighs.
A SONG OF AN AUTUMN MIDNIGHT
A slip of the moon ha Ten
thousand washing- And the autumn wind is
blowing my heart For ever and ever toward the Jade Pass....
Oh, when will the Tartar troops be conquered, And my husband
come back from the long campaign!
BALLADS OF FOUR SEASONS: WINTER
The courier will depart next day, she's told. She
sews a warrior's gown all night. Her fingers feel the needle cold.
How can she hold the scissors tight? The work is done, she
sends it far away. When will it reach the town where warriors
A SONG OF CHANGGAN
My hair had hardly covered my forehead. I was
picking flowers, paying by my door, When you, my lover, on a
bamboo horse, Came trotting in circles and throwing green plums.
We lived near together on a lane in Ch'ang-kan, Both of us
young and happy-hearted. ...At fourteen I became your wife, So
bashful that I dared not smile, And I lowered my head toward a
dark corner And would not turn to But at
fifteen I straightened my brows and laughed, Learning that no dust
could ever seal our love, That even unto death I would await you
by my post And would never lose heart in the tower of silent
watching. ...Then when I was sixteen, you left on a long journey
Through the Gorges of Ch'u-t'ang, of rock and whirling water.
And then came the Fifth-month, more than I could bear, And I
tried to hear the monkeys in your lofty far-off sky. Your
footprints by our door, where I had watched you go, Were hidden,
every one of them, under green moss, Hidden under moss too deep to
sweep away. And the first autumn wind added fallen leaves. And
now, in the Eighth-month, yellowing butterflies Hover, two by two,
in our west-garden grasses And, because of all this, my heart is
breaking And I fear for my bright cheeks, lest they fade.
...Oh, at last, when you return through the three Pa districts,
Send me a message home ahead! And I will come and meet you and
will never mind the distance, All the way to Chang-feng Sha.
A SONG OF A PURE-HEARTED GIRL
Lakka-trees ripen two by two And mandarin-ducks
die side by side. If a true-hearted girl will love only her
husband, In a life as faithfully lived as theirs, What
troubling wave can arrive to vex A spirit like water in a timeless
A TRAVELLER'S SONG
The thread in the hands of a fond-hearted mother
Makes clothes for the bod Carefully she
sews and thoroughly she mends, Dreading the delays that will keep
him late from home. But how much love has the inch-long grass
For three spring months of the light of the sun?
Chen Ziang
ON A GATE-TOWER AT YUZHOU
Where, before me, are the ages that have gone? And
where, behind me, are the coming generations? I think of heaven
and earth, without limit, without end, And I am all alone and my
tears fall down.
AN OLD AIR
There once was a man, sent on military missions, A
wanderer, from youth, on the You and Yan frontiers. Under the
horses' hoofs he would meet his foes And, recklessly risking his
seven-foot body, Would slay whoever dared confront Those
moustaches that bristled like porcupinequills. ...There were dark
clouds below the hills, there were white clouds above them, But
before a man has served full time, how can he go back? In eastern
Liao a girl was waiting, a girl of fifteen years, Deft with a
guitar, expert in dance and song. ...She seems to be fluting, even
now, a reed-song of home, Filling every soldier's eyes with
homesick tears.
A FAREWELL TO MY FRIEND CHEN
In the Fourth-month the south wind blows plains of
yellow barley, Date-flowers have not faded yet and lakka-leaves
are long. The green peak that we left at dawn we still can see at
evening, While our horses whinny on the road, eager to turn
homeward. ...Chen, my friend, you have always been a great and
good man, With your dragon's moustache, tiger's eyebrows and your
massive forehead. In your bosom you have shelved away ten thousand
volumes. You have held your head high, never bowed it in the dust.
...After buying us wine and pledging us, here at the eastern gate,
And taking things as lightly as a wildgoose feather, Flat you
lie, tipsy, forg But now and then you open
your eyes and gaze at a high lone cloud. ...The tide-head of the
lone river joins the darkening sky. The ferryman beaches his boat.
It has grown too late to sail. And people on their way from Cheng
cannot go home, And people from Loyang sigh with disappointment.
...I have heard about the many friends around your wood land
dwelling. Yesterday you were dismissed. Are they your friends
A LUTE SONG
Our host, providing abundant wine to make the night
mellow, Asks his guest from Yangzhou to play for us on the lute.
Toward the moon that whitens the city-wall, black crows are
flying, Frost is on ten thousand trees, and the wind blows through
But a copper stove has added its light to that of
flowery candles, And the lute plays The Green Water, and
then The Queen of Chu. Once it has begun to play, there is
no other sound: A spell is on the banquet, while the stars grow
thin.... But three hundred miles from here, in Huai, official
duties await him, And so it's farewell, and the road again, under
cloudy mountains.
ON HEARING DONG PLAY THE FLAGEOLET A POEM TO
PALACE-ATTENDANT FANG
When this melody for the flageolet was made by Lady
Cai, When long ago one by one she sang its eighteen stanzas,
Even the Tartars were shedding tears into the border grasses,
And the envoy of China was heart-broken, turning back home with
his escort. ...Cold fires now of old battles are grey on ancient
forts, And the wilderness is shadowed with white new-flying snow.
...When the player first brushes the Shang string and the Jue and
then the Yu, Autumn-leaves in all four quarters are shaken with a
murmur. Dong, the master, Must have been taught in heaven.
Demons come from the deep pine-wood and stealthily listen To
music slow, then quick, following his hand, Now far away, now near
again, according to his heart. A hundred birds from an empty
mountai Three thousand miles of floating
cloud A wildgoose fledgling, left behind,
cries for its flock, And a Tartar child for the mother he loves.
Then river waves are calmed And birds are mute that were
singing, And Wuzu tribes are homesick for their distant land,
And out of the dust of Siberian steppes rises a plaintive sorrow.
...Suddenly the low sound leaps to a freer tune, Like a long
wind swaying a forest, a downpour breaking tiles, A cascade
through the air, flying over tree-tops. ...A wild deer calls to
his fellows. He is running among the mansions In the corner of the
capital by the Eastern Palace wall.... Phoenix Lake lies opposite
the Gate of Green J But how can fame and profit concern a man
of genius? Day and night I long for him to bring his lute again.
ON HEARING AN WANSHAN PLAY THE
Bamboo from the southern hills was used to make this
pipe. And its music, that was introduced from Persia first of all,
Has taken on new magic through later use in China. And now the
Tartar from Liangzhou, blowing it for me, Drawing a sigh from
whosoever hears it, Is bringing to a wanderer's eyes homesick
tears.... M but few understand. To and fro
at will there's a long wind flying, Dry mulberry-trees, old
cypresses, trembling in its chill. There are nine baby phoenixes,
o A dragon and a tiger spring up at the same
Then in a hundred waterfalls ten thousand songs of autumn
Are suddenly changing to The Yuyang L And when yellow
clouds grow thin and the white sun darkens, They are changing
still again to Spring in the Willow Trees. Like Imperial Garden
flowers, brightening the eye with beauty, Are the high-hall
candles we have lighted this cold night, And with every cup of
wine goes another round of music.
Meng Haoran
RETURNING AT NIGHT TO LUMEN
A bell in the mountain-temple sounds the coming of
night. I hear people at the fishing-town stumble aboard the ferry,
While others follow the sand-bank to their homes along the river.
...I also take a boat and am bound for Lumen Mountain -- And
soon the Lumen moonlight is piercing misty trees. I have come,
before I know it, upon an ancient hermitage, The thatch door, the
piney path, the solitude, the quiet, Where a hermit lives and
moves, never needing a companion.
A SONG OF LU MOUNTAIN TO CENSOR LU
I am the madman of the Chu country Who sang a mad
song disputing Confucius. ...Holding in my hand a staff of green
jade, I have crossed, since morning at the Yellow Crane Terrace,
All five Holy Mountains, without a thought of distance,
According to the one constant habit of my life. Lu Mountain
stands beside the Southern Dipper In clouds reaching silken like a
nine-panelled screen, With its shadows in a crystal lake deepening
the green water. The Golden Gate opens into two mountain-ranges.
A silver stream is hanging down to three stone bridges Within
sight of the mighty Tripod Falls. Ledges of cliff and winding
trails lead to blue sky And a flush of cloud in the morning sun,
Whence no flight of birds could be blown into Wu. ...I climb
to the top. I survey the whole world. I see the long river that
runs beyond return, Yellow clouds that winds have driven hundreds
of miles And a snow-peak whitely circled by the swirl of a
ninefold stream. And so I am singing a song of Lu Mountain, A
song that is born of the breath of Lu Mountain. ...Where the Stone
Mirror makes the heart's purity purer And green moss has buried
the footsteps of Xie, I have eaten the immortal pellet and, rid of
the world's troubles, Before the lute's third playing have
achieved my element. Far away I watch the angels riding coloured
clouds Toward heaven's Jade City, with hibiscus in their hands.
And so, when I have traversed the nine sections of the world,
I will follow Saint Luao up the Great Purity.
TIANMU MOUNTAIN ASCENDED IN A DREAM
A seafaring visitor will talk about Japan, Which
waters and mists con But Yueh people talk
about Heavenly Mother Mountain, Still seen through its varying
deeps of cloud. In a straight line to heaven, its summit enters
heaven, Tops the five Holy Peaks, and casts a shadow through China
With the hundred-mile length of the Heavenly Terrace Range,
Which, just at this point, begins turning southeast. ...My
heart and my dreams are in Wu and Yueh And they cross Mirror Lake
all night in the moon. And the moon lights my shadow And me to
Yan River -- With the hermitage of Xie still there And the
monkeys calling clearly over ripples of green water. I wear his
pegged boots Up a ladder of blue cloud, Sunny ocean half-way,
Holy cock-crow in space, Myriad peaks and more valleys and
nowhere a road. Flowers lure me, rocks ease me. Day suddenly ends.
Bears, dragons, tempestuous on mountain and river, Startle the
forest and make the heights tremble. Clouds darken with darkness
of rain, Streams pale with pallor of mist. The Gods of Thunder
and Lightning Shatter the whole range. The stone gate breaks
asunder Venting in the pit of heaven, An impenetrable shadow.
...But now the sun and moon illumine a gold and silver terrace,
And, clad in rainbow garments, riding on the wind, Come the
queens of all the clouds, descending one by one, With tigers for
their lute-players and phoenixes for dancers. Row upon row, like
fields of hemp, range the fairy figures. I move, my soul goes
flying, I wake with a long sigh, My pillow and my matting
Are the lost clouds I was in. ...And this is the way it always
is with human joy: Ten thousand things run for ever like water
toward the east. And so I take my leave of you, not knowing for
how long. ...But let me, on my green slope, raise a white deer
And ride to you, great mountain, when I have need of you. Oh,
how can I gravely bow and scrape to men of high rank and men of high
office Who never will suffer being shown an honest-hearted face!
PARTING AT A WINE-SHOP IN NANJING
A wind, bringing willow-cotton, sweetens the shop,
And a girl from Wu, pouring wine, urges me to share it With my
comrades of the city who ar And as each of
them drains his cup, I say to him in parting, Oh, go and ask this
river running to the east If it can travel farther than a friend's
A FAREWELL TO SECRETARY SHUYUN AT THE XIETIAO
VILLA IN XUANZHOU
Since yesterday had to throw me and bolt, Today
has hurt my heart even more. The autumn wildgeese have a long wind
for escort As I face them from this villa, drinking my wine.
The bones of great writers are your brushes, in the School of
Heaven, And I am a Lesser Xie growing up by your side. We both
are exalted to distant thought, Aspiring to the sky and the bright
moon. But since water still flows, though we cut it with our
swords, And sorrows return, though we drown them with wine,
Since the world can in no way answer our craving, I will
loosen my hair tomorrow and take to a fishingboat.
A SONG OF RUNNING-HORSE RIVER IN FAREWELL TO
GENERAL FENG OF THE WESTERN EXPEDITION
Look how swift to the snowy sea races Running-Horse
River! -- And sand, up from the desert, flies yellow into heaven.
This Ninth-month night is blowing cold at Wheel Tower, And
valleys, like peck measures, fill with the broken boulders That
downward, headlong, follow the wind. ...In spite of grey grasses,
Tar West of the Hill of Gold, smoke and dust
gather. O General of the Chinese troops, start your campaign!
Keep your iron armour on all night long, Send your soldiers
forward with a clattering of weapons! ...While the sharp wind's
point cuts the face like a knife, And snowy sweat steams on the
horses' backs, Freezing a pattern of five-flower coins, Your
challenge from camp, from an inkstand of ice, Has chilled the
barbarian chieftain's heart. You will have no more need of an
actual battle! -- We await the news of victory, here at the
western pass!
A SONG OF WHEEL TOWER IN FAREWELL TO GENERAL FENG
OF THE WESTERN EXPEDITION
On Wheel Tower parapets night-bugles are blowing,
Though the flag at the northern end hangs limp. Scouts, in the
darkness, are passing Quli, Where, west of the Hill of Gold, the
Tartar chieftain has halted We can see, from the look-out, the
dust and black smoke Where Chinese troops are camping, north of
Wheel Tower. ...Our flags now beckon the General farther west-
With bugles in the dawn he rouses his Grand A Drums like a
tempest pound on four sides And the Yin Mountains shake with the
sh Clouds and the war-wind whirl up in a
point Over fields where grass-roots will tighten around white
In the Dagger River mist, through a biting wind,
Horseshoes, at the Sand Mouth line, break on icy boulders.
...Our General endures every pain, every hardship, Commanded
to settle the dust along the border. We have read, in the Green
Books, tales of old days- But here we behold a living man,
mightier than the dead.
A SONG OF WHITE SNOW IN FAREWELL TO FIELD-CLERK WU
GOING HOME
The north wind rolls the white grasses and breaks
And the Eighth-month snow across the Tartar sky Is like
a spring gale, come up in the night, Blowing open the petals of
ten thousand peartrees. It enters the pearl blinds, it wets the
A fur coat feels cold,
Bows become rigid, can hardly be drawn And the metal of armour
The sand-sea deepens with fathomless ice,
And darkness masse But we drink to our
guest bound home from camp, And play him barbarian lutes, guitars,
Till at dusk, when the drifts are crushing our tents
And our frozen red flags cannot flutter in the wind, We watch
him through Wheel-Tower Gate going eastward. Into the snow-mounds
of Heaven-Peak Road.... And then he disappears at the turn of the
pass, Leaving behind him only hoof-prints.
A DRAWING OF A HORSE BY GENERAL CAO AT SECRETARY
WEI FENG'S HOUSE
Throughout this dynasty no one had painted horses
Like the master-spirit, Prince Jiangdu -- And then to General
Cao through his thirty years of fame The world's gaze turned, for
royal steeds. He painted the late Emperor's luminous white horse.
For ten days the thunder flew over Dragon Lake, And a
pink-agate plate was sent him from the palace- The talk of the
court-ladies, the marvel of all eyes. The General danced,
receiving it in his honoured home After this rare gift, followed
rapidly fine silks From many of the nobles, requesting that his
art Lend a new lustre to their screens. ...First came the
curly-maned horse of Emperor Taizong, Then, for the Guos, a
lion-spotted horse.... But now in this painting I see two horses,
A sobering sight for whosoever knew them. They are war-
horses. Either could face ten thousand. They make the white silk
stretch away into a vast desert. And the seven others with them
are almost as noble Mist and snow are moving across a cold sky,
And hoofs are cleaving snow-drifts under great trees- With
here a group of officers and there a group of servants. See how
these nine horses all vie with one another- The high clear glance,
the deep firm breath. ...Who understands distinction? Who really
cares for art? You, Wei Feng, have followed C Zhidun preceded
him. ...I remember when the late Emperor came toward his Summer
Palace, The procession, in green-feathered rows, swept from the
eastern sky -- Thirty thousand horses, prancing, galloping,
Fashioned, every one of them, like the horses in this picture....
But now the Imperial Ghost receives secret jade from the River
God, For the Emperor hunts crocodiles no longer by the streams.
Where you see his Great Gold Tomb, you may hear among the pines
A bird grieving in the wind that the Emperor's horses are gone.
A SONG OF A PAINTING TO GENERAL CAO
O General, descended from Wei's Emperor Wu, You
are nobler now than when a noble.... Conquerors and their velour
perish, But masters of beauty live forever. ...With your
brush-work learned from Lady Wei And second only to Wang Xizhi's,
Faithful to your art, you know no age, Letting wealth and fame
drift by like clouds. ...In the years of Kaiyuan you were much
with the Emperor, Accompanied him often to the Court of the South
Wind. When the spirit left great statesmen, on walls of the Hall
of Fame The point of your brush preserved their living faces.
You crowned all the premiers wit You
fitted all commanders with arr You made the
founders of this dynasty, with every hair alive, Seem to be just
back from the fierceness of a battle. ...The late Emperor had a
horse, known as Jade Flower, Whom artists had copied in various
poses. They led him one day to the red marble stairs With his
eyes toward the palace in the deepening air. Then, General,
commanded to proceed with your work, You centred all your being on
a piece of silk. And later, when your dragon-horse, born of the
sky, Had banished earthly horses for ten thousand generations,
There was one Jade Flower standing on the dais And another by
the steps, and they marvelled at each other.... The Emperor
rewarded you with smiles and with gifts, While officers and men of
the stud hung about and stared. ...Han Gan, your follower, has
likewise grown proficient At representing horses in all their
But picturing the flesh, he fails to draw the bone-
So that even the finest are deprived of their spirit. You,
beyond the mere skill, used your art divinely- And expressed, not
only horses, but the life of a good man.... Yet here you are,
wandering in a world of disorder And sketching from time to time
some petty passerby People note your case with the whites of their
eyes. There's nobody purer, there's nobody poorer. ...Read in
the records, from earliest times, How hard it is to be a great
A LETTER TO CENSOR HAN
I am sad. My thoughts are in Youzhou. I would
hurry there-but I am sick in bed. ...Beauty would be facing me
across the autumn waters. Oh, to wash my feet in Lake Dongting and
see at its eight corners Wildgeese flying high, sun and moon both
white, Green maples changing to red in the frosty sky, Angels
bound for the Capital of Heaven, near the North Star, Riding, some
of them phrenixes, and others unicorns, With banners of hibiscus
and with melodies of mist, Their shadows dancing upside-down in
the southern rivers, Till the Queen of the Stars, drowsy with her
nectar, Would forget the winged men on either side of her!
...From the Wizard of the Red Pine this word has come for me:
That after his earlier follower he has now a new disciple Who,
formerly at the capital as Emperor Liu's adviser, In spite of
great successes, never could be happy. ...What are a country's
rise and fall? Can flesh-pots be as fragrant as mountain
fruit?.... I grieve that he is lost far away in the south. May
the star of long life accord him its blessing! ...O purity, to
seize you from beyond the autumn waters And to place you as an
offering in the Court of Imperial Jade.
A SONG OF AN OLD CYPRESS
Beside the Temple of the Great Premier stands an
ancient cypress With a trunk of green bronze and a root of stone.
The girth of its white bark would be the reach of forty men
And its tip of kingfish-blue is two thousand feet in heaven.
Dating from the days of a great ruler's great statesman, Their
very tree is loved now and honoured by the people. Clouds come to
it from far away, from the Wu cliffs, And the cold moon glistens
on its peak of snow. ...East of the Silk Pavilion yesterday I
found The ancient ruler and wise statesman both worshipped in one
temple, Whose tree, with curious branches, ages the whole
landscape In spite of the fresh colours of the windows and the
doors. And so firm is the deep root, so established underground,
That its lone lofty boughs can dare the weight of winds, Its
only protection the Heavenly Power, Its only endurance the art of
its Creator. Though oxen sway ten thousand heads, they cannot move
a mountain. ...When beams are required to restore a great house,
Though a tree writes no memorial, yet people understand That
not unless they fell it can use be made of it.... Its bitter heart
may be tenanted now by black and white ants, But its odorous
leaves were once the nest of phoenixes and pheasants. ...Let wise
and hopeful men harbour no complaint. The greater the timber, the
tougher it is to use.
A SONG OF DAGGER-DANCING TO A GIRL-PUPIL OF LADY
GONGSUNOn the 19th of the Tenth-month in the
second year of Dali, I saw, in the house of the Kueifu official Yuante, a
girl named Li from Lingying dancing with a dagger. I admired her skill and
asked who was her teacher. She named Lady Gongsun. I remembered that in
the third year of Kaiyuan at Yancheng, when I was a little boy, I saw Lady
Gongsun dance. She was the only one in the Imperial Theatre who could
dance with this weapon. Now she is aged and unknown, and even her pupil
has passed the heyday of beauty. I wrote this poem to express my
wistfulness. The work of Zhang Xu of the Wu district, that great master of
grassy writing, was improved by his having been present when Lady Gongsun
danced in the Yeh district. From this may be judged the art of Gongsun.
There lived years ago the beautiful Gongsun, Who,
dancing with her dagger, drew from all four quarters An audience
like mountains lost among themselves. Heaven and earth moved back
and forth, following her motions, Which were bright as when the
Archer shot the nine suns down the sky And rapid as angels before
the wings of dragons. She began like a thunderbolt, venting its
anger, And ended like the shining calm of rivers and the sea....
But vanished are those red lips and
none but this one pupil bears the perfume of her fame, This beauty
from Lingying, at the Town of the White God, Dancing still and
singing in the old blithe way. And while we reply to each other's
questions, We sigh together, saddened by changes that have come.
There were eight thousand ladies in the late Emperor's court,
But none could dance the dagger-dance like Lady Gongsun.
...Fifty years have passed, like t Wind
and dust, filling the world, obscure the Imperial House. Instead
of the Pear-Garden Players, who have blown by like a mist, There
are one or two girl-musicians now-trying to charm the cold Sun.
There are man-size trees by the Emperor's Golden Tomb I seem
to hear dead grasses rattling on the cliffs of Qutang. ...The song
is done, the slow string and quick pipe have ceased. At the height
of joy, sorrow comes with the eastern moon rising. And I, a poor
old man, not knowing where to go, Must harden my feet on the lone
hills, toward sickness and despair.
A DRINKING SONG AT STONE-FISH
LAKEI have used grain from the public fields, for
distilling wine. After my office hours I have the wine loaded on a boat
and then I seat my friends on the bank of the lake. The little wine-boats
come to each of us and supply us with wine. We seem to be drinking on Pa
Islet in Lake Dongting. And I write this poem.
Stone-Fish Lake is like Lake Dongting -- When the
top of Zun is green and the summer tide is rising. ...With the
mountain for a table, and the lake a fount of wine, The tipplers
all are settled along the sandy shore. Though a stiff wind for
days has roughened the water, Wine-boats constantly arrive....
I have a long-necked gourd and, happy on Ba Island, I am
pouring a drink in every direction doing away with care.
MOUNTAIN-STONES
Rough were the mountain-stones, and the path very
And when I reached the temple, bats were in the dusk.
I climbed to the hall, sat on the steps, and drank the rain-
washed air Among the round gardenia-pods and huge bananaleaves.
On the old wall, said the priest, were Buddhas finely painted,
And he brought a light and showed me, and I called them wonderful
He spread the bed, dusted the mats, and made my supper ready,
And, though the food was coarse, it satisfied my hunger. At
midnight, while I lay there not hearing even an insect, The
mountain moon with her pure light entered my door.... At dawn I
left the mountain and, alone, lost my way: In and out, up and
down, while a heavy mist Made brook and mountain green and purple,
brightening everything. I am passing sometimes pines and oaks,
which ten men could not girdle, I am treading pebbles barefoot in
swift-running water -- Its ripples purify my ear, while a soft
wind blows my garments.... These are the things which, in
themselves, make life happy. Why should we be hemmed about and
hampered with people? O chosen pupils, far behind me in my own
country, What if I spent my old age here and never went back home?
ON THE FESTIVAL OF THE MOON TO SUB-OFFICIAL
The fine clouds have opened and the River of Stars is gone,
A clear wind blows across the sky, and the moon widens its wave,
The sand is smooth, the water still, no sound and no shadow,
As I offer you a cup of wine, asking you to sing. But so sad
is this song of yours and so bitter your voice That before I
finish listening my tears have become a rain: "Where Lake Dongting
is joined to the sky by the lofty Nine-Doubt Mountain, Dragons,
crocodiles, rise and sink, apes, flying foxes, whimper.... At a
ten to one risk of death, I have reached my official post, Where
lonely I live and hushed, as though I were in hiding. I leave my
bed, I eat, The air of the lake
is putrid, breathing its evil odours.... Yesterday, by the
district office, the great drum was announcing The crowning of an
emperor, a change in the realm. The edict granting pardons runs
three hundred miles a day, All those who were to die have had
their sentences commuted, The unseated are promoted and exiles are
recalled, Corruptions are abolished, clean officers appointed.
My superior sent my name in but the governor would not listen
And has only transferred me to this barbaric place. My rank is
very low and They might punish me with lashes
in the dust of the street. Most of my fellow exiles are now
returning home -- A journey which, to me, is a heaven beyond
climbing." ...Stop your song, I beg you, and listen to mine, A
song that is utterly different from yours: "Tonight is the
loveliest moon of the year. All else is with fate, not ours to
But, refusing this wine, may we choose more tomorrow?"