---
type: article
status: Published
slug: "three-hundred-tang-poems"
title: "Three Hundred Tang Poems"
author: "compiled by Hengtang Tuishi (Sun Zhu)"
tradition: "chinese"
language: "lzh"
genre: "poetry anthology"
period: "poems 618–907 CE; compiled 1763"
source_url: "https://zh.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=%E5%94%90%E8%A9%A9%E4%B8%89%E7%99%BE%E9%A6%96&oldid=7911040"
certainty: observed
source: "https://zh.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=%E5%94%90%E8%A9%A9%E4%B8%89%E7%99%BE%E9%A6%96&oldid=7911040"
unknowns: none known
---
# Three Hundred Tang Poems

## Original

### The Compiler’s Preface

世俗兒童就學，即授《千家詩》，取其易於成誦，故流傳不廢。但其詩隨手掇拾，工拙莫辨，且止五七律絕二體，而唐宋人又雜出其間，殊乖體制。因專就唐詩中膾炙人口之作，擇其尤要者，每體得數十首，共三百餘首，錄成一編，為家塾課本，俾童而習之，白首亦莫能廢，較《千家詩》不遠勝耶？諺云：「熟讀唐詩三百首，不會作詩也會吟」。請以是編驗之。

### Five-Character Old-Style Poems

元結〈賊退示官吏〉
昔歲逢太平，山林二十年。
泉源在庭戶，洞壑當門前。
井稅有常期，日晏猶得眠。
忽然遭世變，數歲親戎旃。
今來典斯郡，山夷又紛然。
城小賊不屠，人貧傷可憐。
是以陷隣境，此州獨見全。
使臣將王命，豈不如賊焉。
令彼徵斂者，迫之如火煎。
誰能絕人命，以作時世賢。
思欲委符節，引竿自刺船。
將家就魚麥，歸老江湖邊。

王昌齡〈同從弟南齋翫月憶山陰崔少府〉
高臥南齋時，開帷月初吐。
清輝澹水木，演漾在窗戶。
苒苒幾盈虛，澄澄變今古。
美人清江畔，是夜越吟苦。
千里其如何，微風吹蘭杜。

王維〈送綦毋潛落第還鄉〉
聖代無隱者，英靈盡來歸。
遂令東山客，不得顧采薇。
既至君門遠，孰云吾道非。
江淮度寒食，京洛縫春衣。
置酒臨長道，同心與我違。
行當浮桂櫂，未幾拂荊扉。
遠樹帶行客，孤村當落暉。
吾謀適不用，勿謂知音稀。

王維〈送別〉
下馬飲君酒，問君何所之。
君言不得意，歸臥南山陲。
但去莫復問，白雲無盡時。

王維〈青谿〉
言入黃花川，每逐青谿水。
隨山將萬轉，趣途無百里。
聲喧亂石中，色靜深松裏。
漾漾泛菱荇，澄澄映葭葦。
我心素已閒，清川澹如此。
請留盤石上，垂釣將已矣。

王維〈渭川田家〉
斜陽照墟落，窮巷牛羊歸。
野老念牧童，倚杖候荊扉。
雉雊麥苗秀，蠶眠桑葉稀。
田夫荷鋤至，相見語依依。
即此羨閑逸，悵然吟式微。

王維〈西施詠〉
豔色天下重，西施寧久微。
朝乃越溪女，暮作吳宮妃。
賤日豈殊眾，貴來方悟稀。
邀人傅香粉，不自著羅衣。
君寵益嬌態，君憐無是非。
當時浣紗伴，莫得同車歸。
持謝鄰家子，效顰安可希？

岑參〈與高適薛據登慈恩寺浮圖〉
塔勢如湧出，孤高聳天宮。
登臨出世界，磴道盤虛空。
突兀壓神州，崢嶸如鬼工。
四角礙白日，七層摩蒼穹。
下窺指高鳥，俯聽聞驚風。
連山若波濤，奔湊如朝東。
青槐夾馳道，宮館何玲瓏。
秋色從西來，蒼然滿關中。
五陵北原上，萬古青濛濛。
淨理了可悟，勝因夙所宗。
誓將挂冠去，覺道資無窮。

李白〈下終南山過斛斯山人宿置酒〉
暮從碧山下，山月隨人歸。
卻顧所來徑，蒼蒼橫翠微。
相攜及田家，童稚開荊扉。
綠竹入幽徑，青蘿拂行衣。
歡言得所憩，美酒聊共揮。
長歌吟松風，曲盡河星稀。
我醉君復樂，陶然共忘機。

李白〈月下獨酌〉
花間一壺酒，獨酌無相親。
舉杯邀明月，對影成三人。
月既不解飲，影徒隨我身。
暫伴月將影，行樂須及春。
我歌月徘徊，我舞影零亂。
醒時同交歡，醉後各分散。
永結無情遊，相期邈雲漢。

李白〈春思〉
燕草如碧絲，秦桑低綠枝。
當君懷歸日，是妾斷腸時。
春風不相識，何事入羅幃。

杜甫〈望嶽〉
岱宗夫如何，齊魯青未了。
造化鍾神秀，陰陽割昏曉。
盪胸生曾雲，決眥入歸鳥。
會當凌絕頂，一覽衆山小。

杜甫〈贈衛八處士〉
人生不相見，動如參與商。
今夕復何夕，共此燈燭光。
少壯能幾時，鬢髮各已蒼。
訪舊半爲鬼，驚呼熱中腸。
焉知二十載，重上君子堂。
昔別君未婚，兒女忽成行。
怡然敬父執，問我來何方。
問答乃未已，驅兒羅酒漿。
夜雨翦春韭，新炊間黃粱。
主稱會面難，一舉累十觴。
十觴亦不醉，感子故意長。
明日隔山岳，世事兩茫茫。

杜甫〈佳人〉
絕代有佳人，幽居在空谷。
自云良家子，零落依草木。
關中昔喪亂，兄弟遭殺戮。
官高何足論，不得收骨肉。
世情惡衰歇，萬事隨轉燭。
夫婿輕薄兒，新人美如玉。
合昏尚知時，鴛鴦不獨宿。
但見新人笑，那聞舊人哭。
在山泉水清，出山泉水濁。
侍婢賣珠迴，牽蘿補茅屋。
摘花不插髮，采柏動盈掬。
天寒翠袖薄，日暮倚修竹。

杜甫〈夢李白之一〉
死別已吞聲，生別常惻惻。
江南瘴癘地，逐客無消息。
故人入我夢，明我長相憶。
恐非平生魂，路遠不可測。
魂來楓葉青，魂返關塞黑。
君今在羅網，何以有羽翼。
落月滿屋梁，猶疑照顏色。
水深波浪闊，無使蛟龍得。

杜甫〈夢李白之二〉
浮雲終日行，遊子久不至。
三夜頻夢君，情親見君意。
告歸常局促，苦道來不易。
江湖多風波，舟楫恐失墜。
出門搔白首，若負平生志。
冠蓋滿京華，斯人獨憔悴。
孰云網恢恢，將老身反累。
千秋萬歲名，寂寞身後事。

孟浩然〈秋登蘭山寄張五〉
北山白雲裏，隱者自怡悅。
相望試登高，心飛逐鳥滅。
愁因薄暮起，興是清秋發。
時見歸村人，沙行渡頭歇。
天邊樹若薺，江畔舟如月。
何當載酒來，共醉重陽節。

孟浩然〈夏日南亭懷辛大〉
山光忽西落，池月漸東上。散髮乘夕涼，開軒臥閑敞。
荷風送香氣，竹露滴清響。欲取鳴琴彈，恨無知音賞。
感此懷故人，中宵勞夢想。

孟浩然〈宿業師山房待丁大不至〉
夕陽度西嶺，群壑倏已暝。
松月生夜涼，風泉滿清聽。
樵人歸欲盡，煙鳥棲初定。
之子期宿來，孤琴候蘿徑。

丘為〈尋西山隱者不遇〉
絕頂一茅茨，直上三十里。
扣關無僮僕，窺室唯案几。
若非巾柴車，應是釣秋水。
差池不相見，黽勉空仰止。
草色新雨中，松聲晚牕裏。
及茲契幽絕，自足蕩心耳。
雖無賓主意，頗得清淨理。
興盡方下山，何必待之子。

柳宗元〈晨詣超師院讀禪經〉
汲井嗽寒齒，清心拂塵服。
閒持貝葉書，步出東齋讀。
真源了無取，妄跡世所逐。
遺言冀可冥，繕性何由熟？
道人庭宇靜，苔色連深竹。
日出霧露餘，青松如膏沐。
澹然離言說，悟悅心自足。

柳宗元〈溪居〉
久為簪組束，幸此南夷謫。
閒依農圃鄰，偶似山林客。
曉耕翻露草，夜榜響溪石。
來往不逢人，長歌楚天碧。

韋應物〈郡齋雨中與諸文士燕集〉
兵衛森畫戟，燕寢凝清香。
海上風雨至，逍遙池閣涼。
煩疴近消散，嘉賓復滿堂。
自慙居處崇，未覩斯民康。
理會是非遣，性達形迹忘。
鮮肥屬時禁，蔬果幸見嘗。
俯飲一杯酒，仰聆金玉章。
神歡體自輕，意欲凌風翔。
吳中盛文史，羣彥今汪洋。
方知大藩地，豈曰財賦疆。

韋應物〈初發揚子寄元大校書〉
悽悽去親愛，泛泛入煙霧。
歸棹洛陽人，殘鐘廣陵樹。
今朝此爲別，何處還相遇。
世事波上舟，沿洄安得住。

韋應物〈寄全椒山中道士〉
今朝郡齋冷，忽念山中客。
澗底束荆薪，歸來煮白石。
欲持一瓢酒，遠慰風雨夕。
落葉滿空山，何處尋行跡。

韋應物〈長安遇馮著〉
客從東方來，衣上灞陵雨。
問客何爲來，采山因買斧。
冥冥花正開，颺颺燕新乳。
昨別今已春，鬢絲生幾縷。

韋應物〈夕次盱眙縣〉
落帆逗淮鎮，停舫臨孤驛。
浩浩風起波，冥冥日沈夕。
人歸山郭暗，雁下蘆洲白。
獨夜憶秦關，聽鐘未眠客。

韋應物〈東郊〉
吏舍跼終年，出郊曠清曙。
楊柳散和風，青山澹吾慮。
依叢適自憩，緣澗還復去。
微雨靄芳原，春鳩鳴何處？
樂幽心屢止，遵事跡猶遽。
終罷斯結廬，慕陶真可庶。

韋應物〈送楊氏女〉
永日方慼慼，出門復悠悠。
女子今有行，大江泝輕舟。
爾輩苦無恃，撫念益慈柔。
幼爲長所育，兩別泣不休。
對此結中腸，義往難復留。
自小闕內訓，事姑貽我憂。
賴茲託令門，仁恤庶無尤。
貧儉誠所尚，資從豈待周。
孝恭遵婦道，容止順其猷。
別離在今晨，見爾當何秋。
居閑始自遣，臨感忽難收。
歸來視幼女，零淚緣纓流。

常建〈宿王昌齡隱居〉
清溪深不測，隱處唯孤雲。
松際露微月，清光猶爲君。
茅亭宿花影，藥院滋苔紋。
余亦謝時去，西山鸞鶴羣。

張九齡〈感遇之一〉
孤鴻海上來，池潢不敢顧。
側見雙翠鳥，巢在三珠樹。
矯矯珍木巔，得無金丸懼。
美服患人指，高明逼神惡。
今我遊冥冥，弋者何所慕。

張九齡〈感遇之二〉
蘭葉春葳蕤，桂華秋皎潔。
欣欣此生意，自爾爲佳節。
誰知林棲者，聞風坐相悅。
草木有本心，何求美人折。

張九齡〈感遇之三〉
幽林歸獨臥，滯虛洗孤清。
持此謝高鳥，因之傳遠情。
日夕懷空意，人誰感至精。
飛沈理自隔，何所慰吾誠。

張九齡〈感遇之四〉
江南有丹橘，經冬猶綠林。
豈伊地氣暖，自有歲寒心。
可以薦嘉客，奈何阻重深。
運命唯所遇，循環不可尋。
徒言樹桃李，此木豈無陰。

綦毋潛〈春泛若耶溪〉
幽意無斷絕，此去隨所偶。
晚風吹行舟，花路入溪口。
際夜轉西壑，隔山望南斗。
潭煙飛溶溶，林月低向後。
生事且彌漫，願爲持竿叟。

### Seven-Character Old-Style Poems

元結〈石魚湖上醉歌並序〉
石魚湖，似洞庭，夏水欲滿君山青。
山爲樽，水爲沼，酒徒歷歷坐洲島。
長風連日作大浪，不能廢人運酒舫。
我持長瓢坐巴丘，酌飲四座以散愁。

白居易〈長恨歌〉
漢皇重色思傾國，御㝢多年求不得。
楊家有女初長成，養在深閨人未識。
天生麗質難自棄，一朝選在君王側。
迴眸一笑百媚生，六宮粉黛無顔色。
春寒賜浴華清池，溫泉水滑洗凝脂。
侍兒扶起嬌無力，始是新承恩澤時。
雲鬢花顔金步摇，芙蓉帳暖度春宵。
春宵苦短日高起，從此君王不早朝。
承歡侍宴無閑暇，春從春遊夜專夜。
後宮佳麗三千人，三千寵愛在一身。
金屋粧成嬌侍夜，玉樓宴罷醉和春。
姊妹弟兄皆列土，可憐光彩生門戶。
遂令天下父母心，不重生男重生女。
驪宮高處入青雲，仙樂風飄處處聞。
緩歌慢舞凝絲竹，盡日君王看不足。
漁陽鞞鼓動地來，驚破霓裳羽衣曲。
九重城闕煙塵生，千乘萬騎西南行。
翠華摇摇行復止，西出都門百餘里。
六軍不發無奈何，宛轉娥眉馬前死。
花鈿委地無人收，翠翹金雀玉搔頭。
君王掩面救不得，迴看血淚相和流。
黃埃散漫風蕭索，雲棧縈紆登劍閣。
峨嵋山下少人行，旌旗無光日色薄。
蜀江水碧蜀山青，聖主朝朝暮暮情。
行宮見月傷心色，夜雨聞鈴腸斷聲。
天旋日轉迴龍馭，到此躊躇不能去。
馬嵬坡下泥土中，不見玉顔空死處。
君臣相顧盡霑衣，東望都門信馬歸。
歸來池苑皆依舊，太液芙蓉未央柳。
芙蓉如面柳如眉，對此如何不淚垂。
春風桃李花開夜，秋雨梧桐葉落時。
西宮南苑多秋草，宮葉滿階紅不掃。
梨園弟子白髮新，椒房阿監青娥老。
夕殿螢飛思悄然，孤燈挑盡未成眠。
遲遲鐘鼓初長夜，耿耿星河欲曙天。
鴛鴦瓦冷霜華重，翡翠衾寒誰與共。
悠悠生死別經年，魂魄不曾來入夢。
臨邛道士鴻都客，能以精誠致魂魄。
為感君王輾轉思，遂教方士殷勤覓。
排空馭氣奔如電，昇天入地求之遍。
上窮碧落下黃泉，兩處茫茫皆不見。
忽聞海上有仙山，山在虛無縹緲間。
樓閣玲瓏五雲起，其中綽約多仙子。
中有一人字太真，雪膚花貌參差是。
金闕西廂叩玉扃，轉教小玉報雙成。
聞道漢家天子使，九華帳裏夢魂驚。
攬衣推枕起徘徊，珠箔銀屏邐迤開。
雲鬢半偏新睡覺，花冠不整下堂來。
風吹仙袂飄颻舉，猶似霓裳羽衣舞。
玉容寂寞淚闌干，梨花一枝春帶雨。
含情凝睇謝君王，一別音容兩渺茫。
昭陽殿裏恩愛絶，蓬萊宮中日月長。
迴頭下望人寰處，不見長安見塵霧。
唯將舊物表深情，鈿合金釵寄將去。
釵留一股合一扇，釵擘黃金合分鈿。
但令心似金鈿堅，天上人間會相見。
臨別殷勤重寄詞，詞中有誓兩心知。
七月七日長生殿，夜半無人私語時。
在天願作比翼鳥，在地願為連理枝。
天長地久有時盡，此恨緜緜無絶期。

白居易〈琵琶行並序〉
元和十年，予左遷九江郡司馬。明年秋，送客湓浦口，聞舟船中夜彈琵琶者，聽其音，錚錚然有京都聲。問其人，本長安倡女，嘗學琵琶於穆、曹二善才，年長色衰，委身為賈人婦。遂命酒，使快彈數曲，曲罷憫默，自叙少小時歡樂事，今漂淪顦顇，轉徙於江湖間。予出官二年，恬然自安。感斯人言，是夕始覺有遷謫意。因為長句歌以贈之。凡六百一十六言，命曰《琵琶行》。
潯陽江頭夜送客，楓葉荻花秋瑟瑟。
主人下馬客在船，舉酒欲飲無管絃。
醉不成歡慘將別，別時茫茫江浸月。
忽聞水上琵琶聲，主人忘歸客不發。
尋聲闇問彈者誰，琵琶聲停欲語遲。
移船相近邀相見，添酒迴燈重開宴。
千呼萬喚始出來，猶抱琵琶半遮面。
轉軸撥絃三兩聲，未成曲調先有情。
絃絃掩抑聲聲思，似訴平生不得意。
低眉信手續續彈，說盡心中無限事。
輕攏慢撚抹復挑，初為霓裳後綠腰。
大絃嘈嘈如急雨，小絃切切如私語。
嘈嘈切切錯雜彈，大珠小珠落玉盤。
間關鶯語花底滑，幽咽泉流冰下難。
冰泉冷澀絃凝絕，凝絕不通聲暫歇。
別有幽愁暗恨生，此時無聲勝有聲。
銀瓶乍破水漿迸，鐵騎突出刀槍鳴。
曲終收撥當心畫，四絃一聲如裂帛。
東船西舫悄無言，唯見江心秋月白。
沉吟放撥插絃中，整頓衣裳起斂容。
自言本是京城女，家在蝦蟇陵下住。
十三學得琵琶成，名屬教坊第一部。
曲罷曾教善才伏，妝成每被秋娘妬。
五陵年少爭纏頭，一曲紅綃不知數。
鈿頭雲篦擊節碎，血色羅裙翻酒汙。
今年歡笑復明年，秋月春風等閑度。
弟走從軍阿姨死，暮去朝來顏色故。
門前冷落鞍馬稀，老大嫁作商人婦。
商人重利輕別離，前月浮梁買茶去。
去來江口守空船，遶船月明江水寒。
夜深忽夢少年事，夢啼妝淚紅闌干。
我聞琵琶已歎息，又聞此語重唧唧。
同是天涯淪落人，相逢何必曾相識。
我從去年辭帝京，謫居臥病潯陽城。
潯陽地僻無音樂，終歲不聞絲竹聲。
住近湓江地低濕，黃蘆苦竹繞宅生。
其間旦暮聞何物，杜鵑啼血猿哀鳴。
春江花朝秋月夜，往往取酒還獨傾。
豈無山歌與村笛，嘔啞嘲哳難為聽。
今夜聞君琵琶語，如聽仙樂耳暫明。
莫辭更坐彈一曲，為君飜作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立，卻坐促絃絃轉急。
淒淒不似向前聲，滿座重聞皆掩泣。
座中泣下誰最多，江州司馬青衫濕。

岑參〈走馬川行奉送封大夫出師西征〉
君不見走馬川行雪海邊，平沙莽莽黃入天。
輪臺九月風夜吼，一川碎石大如斗，隨風滿地石亂走。
匈奴草黃馬正肥，金山西見煙塵飛。
漢家大將西出師，將軍金甲夜不脫。
半夜軍行戈相撥，風頭如刀面如割。
馬毛帶雪汗氣蒸，五花連錢旋作冰。
幕中草檄硯水凝，虜騎聞之應膽懾。
料知短兵不敢接，車師西門佇獻捷。

岑參〈輪臺歌奉送封大夫出師西征〉
輪臺城頭夜吹角，輪臺城北旄頭落。
羽書昨夜過渠黎，單于已在金山西。
戍樓西望煙塵黑，漢兵屯在輪臺北。
上將擁旄西出征，平明吹笛大軍行。
四邊伐鼓雪海湧，三軍大呼陰山動。
虜塞兵氣連雲屯，戰場白骨纏草根。
劒河風急雪片闊，沙口石凍馬蹄脫。
亞相勤王甘苦辛，誓將報主靜邊塵。
古來青史誰不見，今見功名勝古人。

岑參〈白雪歌送武判官歸京〉
北風卷地白草折，胡天八月即飛雪。
忽如一夜春風來，千樹萬樹梨花開。
散入珠簾濕羅幕，狐裘不煖錦衾薄。
將軍角弓不得控，都護鐵衣冷難著。
瀚海闌干百丈冰，愁雲慘澹萬里凝。
中軍置酒飲歸客，胡琴琵琶與羌笛。
紛紛暮雪下轅門，風掣紅旗凍不翻。
輪臺東門送君去，去時雪滿天山路。
山回路轉不見君，雪上空留馬行處。

李白〈廬山謠寄盧侍禦虛舟〉
我本楚狂人，鳳歌笑孔丘。
手持綠玉杖，朝別黃鶴樓。
五嶽尋仙不辭遠，一生好入名山遊。
廬山秀出南斗傍，屏風九疊雲錦張，影落明湖青黛光。
金闕前開二峰長，銀河倒挂三石梁。
香爐瀑布遙相望，迴厓沓嶂凌蒼蒼。
翠影紅霞映朝日，鳥飛不到吳天長。
登高壯觀天地間，大江茫茫去不還。
黃雲萬里動風色，白波九道流雪山。
好爲廬山謠，興因廬山發。
閑窺石鏡清我心，謝公行處蒼苔沒。
早服還丹無世情，琴心三疊道初成。
遙見仙人綵雲裏，手把芙蓉朝玉京。
先期汗漫九垓上，願接盧敖遊太清。

李白〈夢遊天姥吟留別〉
海客談瀛洲，煙濤微茫信難求。
越人語天姥，雲霞明滅或可覩。
天姥連天向天橫，勢拔五嶽掩赤城。
天台四萬八千丈，對此欲倒東南傾。
我欲因之夢吳越，一夜飛度鏡湖月。
湖月照我影，送我至剡溪。
謝公宿處今尚在，淥水蕩漾清猨啼。
腳著謝公屐，身登青雲梯。
半壁見海日，空中聞天雞。
千巖萬轉路不定，迷花倚石忽已暝。
熊咆龍吟殷巖泉，慄深林兮驚層巔。
雲青青兮欲雨，水澹澹兮生煙。
列缺霹靂，丘巒崩摧。
洞天石扉，訇然中開。
青冥浩蕩不見底，日月照耀金銀臺。
霓爲衣兮風爲馬，雲之君兮紛紛而來下。
虎鼓瑟兮鸞迴車，仙之人兮列如麻。
忽魂悸以魄動，怳驚起而長嗟。
惟覺時之枕席，失向來之煙霞。
世間行樂亦如此，古來萬事東流水。
別君去兮何時還？且放白鹿青崖間，須行即騎訪名山。
安能摧眉折腰事權貴，使我不得開心顏。

李白〈金陵酒肆留別〉
風吹柳花滿店香，吳姬壓酒喚客嘗。
金陵子弟來相送，欲行不行各盡觴。
請君試問東流水，別意與之誰短長。

李白〈宣州謝朓樓餞別校書叔雲〉
棄我去者，昨日之日不可留。
亂我心者，今日之日多煩憂。
長風萬里送秋雁，對此可以酣高樓。
蓬萊文章建安骨，中間小謝又清發。
俱懷逸興壯思飛，欲上青天覽明月。
抽刀斷水水更流，舉杯銷愁愁更愁。
人生在世不稱意，明朝散髮弄扁舟。

李商隱〈韓碑〉
元和天子神武姿彼何人哉軒與羲
誓將上雪列聖恥坐法宮中朝四夷
淮西有賊五十載封狼生貙貙生羆
不據山河據平地長戈利矛日可麾
帝得聖相相曰度賊斫不死神扶持
腰懸相印作都統陰風慘澹天王旗
愬武古通作牙爪儀曹外郎載筆隨
行軍司馬智且勇十四萬衆猶虎貔
入蔡縛賊獻太廟功無與讓恩不訾
帝曰汝度功第一汝從事愈宜爲辭
愈拜稽首蹈且舞金石刻畫臣能爲
古者世稱大手筆此事不繫于職司
當仁自古有不讓言訖屢頷天子頤
公退齋戒坐小閣濡染大筆何淋漓
點竄堯典舜典字塗改清廟生民詩
文成破體書在紙清晨再拜鋪丹墀
表曰臣愈昧死上詠神聖功書之碑
碑高三丈字如斗負以靈鼇蟠以螭
句奇語重喻者少讒之天子言其私
長繩百尺拽碑倒麤沙大石相磨治
公之斯文若元氣先時已入人肝脾
湯盤孔鼎有述作今無其器存其辭
嗚呼聖皇及聖相相與烜赫流淳熙
公之斯文不示後曷與三五相攀追
願書萬本誦萬遍口角流沫右手胝
傳之七十有三代以爲封禪玉檢明堂基

李頎〈古意〉
男兒事長征，少小幽燕客。
賭勝馬蹄下，由來輕七尺。
殺人莫敢前，鬚如蝟毛磔。
黃雲隴底白雪飛，未得報恩不能歸。
遼東小婦年十五，慣彈琵琶解歌舞。
今爲羗笛出塞聲，使我三軍淚如雨。

李頎〈送陳章甫〉
四月南風大麥黃，棗花未落桐陰長。
青山朝別暮還見，嘶馬出門思舊鄉。
陳侯立身何坦蕩，虬鬚虎眉仍大顙。
腹中貯書一萬卷，不肯低頭在草莽。
東門酤酒飲我曹，心輕萬事皆鴻毛。
醉臥不知白日暮，有時空望孤雲高。
長河浪頭連天黑，津口停舟渡不得。
鄭國遊人未及家，洛陽行子空歎息。
聞道故林相識多，罷官昨日今如何。

李頎〈琴歌〉
主人有酒歡今夕，請奏鳴琴廣陵客。
月照城頭烏半飛，霜淒萬樹風入衣。
銅鑪華燭燭增輝，初彈淥水後楚妃。
一聲已動物皆靜，四座無言星欲稀。
清淮奉使千餘里，敢告雲山從此始。

李頎〈聽董大彈胡笳兼寄語弄房給事〉
蔡女昔造胡笳聲，一彈一十有八拍。
胡人落淚沾邊草，漢使斷腸對歸客。
古戍蒼蒼烽火寒，大荒沈沈飛雪白。
先拂商弦後角羽，四郊秋葉驚摵摵。
董夫子，通神明，深山竊聽來妖精。
言遲更速皆應手，將往復旋如有情。
空山百鳥散還合，萬里浮雲陰且晴。
嘶酸雛鴈失羣夜，斷絕胡兒戀母聲。
川爲淨其波，鳥亦罷其鳴。
烏孫部落家鄉遠，邏娑沙塵哀怨生。
幽音變調忽飄灑，長風吹林雨墮瓦。
迸泉颯颯飛木末，野鹿呦呦走堂下。
長安城連東掖垣，鳳凰池對青瑣門。
高才脫略名與利，日夕望君抱琴至。

李頎〈聽安萬善吹觱篥歌〉
南山截竹爲觱篥，此樂本自龜茲出。
流傳漢地曲轉奇，涼州胡人爲我吹。
傍鄰聞者多歎息，遠客思鄉皆淚垂。
世人解聽不解賞，長飆風中自來往。
枯桑老柏寒颼飀，九雛鳴鳳亂啾啾。
龍吟虎嘯一時發，萬籟百泉相與秋。
忽然更作漁陽摻，黃雲蕭條白日暗。
變調如聞楊柳春，上林繁花照眼新。
歲夜高堂列明燭，美酒一杯聲一曲。

杜甫〈韋諷錄事宅觀曹將軍畫馬圖〉
國初已來畫鞍馬，神妙獨數江都王。
將軍得名三十載，人間又見真乘黃。
曾貌先帝照夜白，龍池十日飛霹靂。
內府殷紅瑪瑙盌，婕妤傳詔才人索。
盌賜將軍拜舞歸，輕紈細綺相追飛。
貴戚權門得筆跡，始覺屏障生光輝。
昔日太宗拳毛騧，近時郭家獅子花。
今之新圖有二馬，復令識者久嘆嗟。
此皆騎戰一敵萬，縞素漠漠開風沙。
其餘七匹亦殊絕，迥若寒空動煙雪。
霜蹄蹴踏長楸間，馬官廝養森成列。
可憐九馬爭神駿，顧視清高氣深穩。
借問苦心愛者誰？後有韋諷前支遁。
憶昔巡幸新豐宮，翠華拂天來向東。
騰驤磊落三萬匹，皆與此圖筋骨同。
自從獻寶朝河宗，無復射蛟江水中。
君不見金粟堆前松柏裏，龍媒去盡鳥呼風？

杜甫〈丹青引贈曹霸將軍〉
將軍魏武之子孫
於今為庶為青門
英雄割據雖已矣
文采風流今尚存
學書初學衛夫人
但恨無過王右軍
丹青不知老將至
富貴於我如浮雲
開元之中常引見
承恩數上南熏殿
凌煙功臣少顏色
將軍下筆開生面
良相頭上進賢冠
猛將腰間大羽箭
褒公鄂公毛髮動
英姿颯爽猶酣戰
先帝天馬玉花驄
畫工如山貌不同
是日牽來赤墀下
迥立閶闔生長風
詔謂將軍拂絹素
意匠慘淡經營中
斯須九重真龍出
一洗萬古凡馬空
玉花卻在御榻上
榻上庭前屹相向
至尊含笑催賜金
圉人太僕皆惆悵
弟子韓幹早入室
亦能畫馬窮殊相
幹惟畫肉不畫骨
忍使驊騮氣凋喪
將軍畫善蓋有神
必逢佳士亦寫真
即今漂泊干戈際
屢貌尋常行路人
塗窮反遭俗眼白
世上未有如公貧
但看古來盛名下
終日坎壈纏其身

杜甫〈寄韓諫議注〉
今我不樂思岳陽，身欲奮飛病在床。
美人娟娟隔秋水，濯足洞庭望八荒。
鴻飛冥冥日月白，青楓葉赤天雨霜。
玉京群帝集北斗，或騎麒麟翳鳳凰。
芙蓉旌旗煙霧落，影動倒景搖瀟湘。
星宮之君醉瓊漿，羽人稀少不在旁。
似聞昨者赤松子，恐是漢代韓張良。
昔隨劉氏定長安，帷幄未改神慘傷。
國家成敗吾豈敢，色難腥腐餐楓香。
周南留滯古所惜，南極老人應壽昌。
美人胡為隔秋水？焉得置之貢玉堂。

杜甫〈古柏行〉
孔明廟前有老柏，柯如青銅根如石。
霜皮溜雨四十圍，黛色參天二千尺。
雲來氣接巫峽長，月出寒通雪山白。
君臣已與時際會，樹木猶為人愛惜。
憶昨路繞錦亭東，先主武侯同閟宮。
崔嵬枝幹郊原古，窈窕丹青戶牖空。
落落盤據雖得地，冥冥孤高多烈風。
扶持自是神明力，正直原因造化功。
大廈如傾要梁棟，萬牛迴首邱山重。
不露文章世已驚，未辭剪伐誰能送。
苦心豈免容螻蟻，香葉終經宿鸞鳳。
志士幽人莫怨嗟，古來材大難為用。

杜甫〈觀公孫大娘弟子舞劍器行並序〉
昔有佳人公孫氏一舞劒器動四方
觀者如山色沮喪天地爲之久低昂
㸌如羿射九日落矯如羣帝驂龍翔
來如雷霆收震怒罷如江海凝青光
絳脣珠袖兩寂寞晚有弟子傳芬芳
臨潁美人在白帝妙舞此曲神揚揚
與余問答既有以感時撫事增惋傷
先帝侍女八千人公孫劒器初第一
五十年間似反掌風塵澒洞昏王室
梨園弟子散如煙女樂餘姿映寒日
金粟堆南木已拱瞿塘石城草蕭瑟
玳筵急管曲復終樂極哀來月東出
老夫不知其所往足繭荒山轉愁疾

孟浩然〈夜歸鹿門歌〉
山寺鳴鐘晝已昏，漁梁渡頭爭渡喧。
人隨沙岸向江村，余亦乘舟歸鹿門。
鹿門月照開煙樹，忽到龐公棲隱處。
巖扉松徑長寂寥，惟有幽人自來去。

柳宗元〈漁翁〉
漁翁夜傍西巖宿，曉汲清湘燃楚竹。
煙銷日出不見人，欸乃一聲山水綠。
迴看天際下中流，巖上無心雲相逐。

陳子昂〈登幽州臺歌〉
前不見古人，後不見來者。
念天地之悠悠，獨愴然而涕下。

韓愈〈山石〉
山石犖确行徑微，黃昏到寺蝙蝠飛。升堂坐階新雨足，芭蕉葉大支子肥。僧言古壁佛畫好，以火來照所見稀。鋪床拂席置羹飯，疏糲亦足飽我饑。夜深靜臥百蟲絕，清月出嶺光入扉。天明獨去無道路，出入高下窮煙霏。山紅澗碧紛爛漫，時見松櫪皆十圍。當流赤足蹋澗石，水聲激激風吹衣。人生如此自可樂，豈必局束為人鞿。嗟哉吾黨二三子，安得至老不更歸。

韓愈〈八月十五夜贈張功曹〉
纖雲四卷天無河，清風吹空月舒波。沙平水息聲影絕，一杯相屬君當歌。君歌聲酸辭且苦，不能聽終淚如雨。洞庭連天九疑高，蛟龍出沒猩鼯號。十生九死到官所，幽居默默如藏逃。下床畏蛇食畏藥，海氣濕蟄熏腥臊。昨者州前捶大鼓，嗣皇繼聖登夔臯。赦書一日行萬里，罪從大辟皆除死。遷者追回流者還，滌瑕蕩垢朝清班。州家申名使家抑，坎軻祗得移荊蠻。判司卑官不堪說，未免捶楚塵埃間。同時輩流多上道，天路幽險難追攀。君歌且休聽我歌，我歌今與君殊科。一年明月今宵多，人生由命非由他，有酒不飲奈明何！

韓愈〈謁衡嶽廟遂宿嶽寺題門樓〉
五嶽祭秩皆三公，四方環鎮嵩當中。火維地荒足妖怪，天假神柄專其雄。噴雲泄霧藏半腹，雖有絕頂誰能窮。我來正逢秋雨節，陰氣晦昧無清風。潛心默禱若有應，豈非正直能感通。須臾靜掃眾峰出，仰見突兀撐青空。紫蓋連延接天柱，石廩騰擲堆祝融。森然魄動下馬拜，松柏一徑趨靈宮。粉墻丹柱動光彩，鬼物圖畫填青紅。升階傴僂薦脯酒，欲以菲薄明其衷。廟令老人識神意，睢盱偵伺能鞠躬。手持杯珓導我擲，云此最吉餘難同。竄逐蠻荒幸不死，衣食才足甘長終。侯王將相望久絕，神縱欲福難為功。夜投佛寺上高閣，星月掩映雲瞳朧。猿鳴鐘動不知曙，杲杲寒日生於東。

韓愈〈石鼓歌〉
張生手持石鼓文，勸我試作石鼓歌。少陵無人謫仙死，才薄將奈石鼓何。周綱陵遲四海沸，宣王憤起揮天戈。大開明堂受朝賀，諸侯劍佩鳴相磨。蒐于岐陽騁雄俊，萬里禽獸皆遮羅。鐫功勒成告萬世，鑿石作鼓隳嵯峨。從臣才藝咸第一，揀選撰刻留山阿。雨淋日炙野火燎，鬼物守護煩撝呵。公從何處得紙本，毫髮盡備無差訛。辭嚴義密讀難曉，字體不類隸與蝌。年深豈免有缺畫，快劍砍斷生蛟鼉。鸞翔鳳翥眾仙下，珊瑚碧樹交枝柯。金繩鐵索鎖鈕壯，古鼎躍水龍騰梭。陋儒編詩不收入，二雅褊迫無委蛇。孔子西行不到秦，掎摭星宿遺羲娥。嗟予好古生苦晚，對此涕淚雙滂沱，憶昔初蒙博士徵，其年始改稱元和。故人從軍在右輔，為我度量掘臼科。濯冠沐浴告祭酒，如此至寶存豈多。氈包席裹可立致，十鼓祇載數駱駝。薦諸太廟比郜鼎，光價豈止百倍過。聖恩若許留太學，諸生講解得切磋。觀經鴻都尚填咽，坐見舉國來奔波。剜苔剔蘚露節角，安置妥帖平不頗。大廈深簷與蓋覆。經歷久遠期無佗，中朝大官老於事。詎肯感激徒媕婀。牧童敲火牛礪角誰復著手為摩挲。日銷月鑠就埋沒，六年西顧空吟哦。羲之俗書趂姿媚，數紙尚可博白鵝。繼周八代爭戰罷，無人收拾理則那。方今太平日無事，柄任儒術崇丘軻。安能以此上論列，願借辯口如懸河。石鼓之歌止於此嗚呼吾意其蹉跎。

### Ballads in the Music Bureau Style

王之渙〈出塞〉
黃河遠上白雲間，
一片孤城萬仞山。
羌笛何須怨楊柳，
春風不度玉門關。

王昌齡〈出塞〉
秦時明月漢時關，萬里長征人未還。
但使龍城飛將在，不教胡馬度陰山。

王昌齡〈塞下曲之一〉
蟬鳴空桑林，八月蕭關道。
出塞入塞寒，處處黃蘆草。
從來幽幷客，皆共塵沙老。
莫學遊俠兒，矜夸紫騮好。

王昌齡〈塞下曲之二〉
飲馬渡秋水，水寒風似刀。
平沙日未沒，黯黯見臨洮。
昔日長城戰，咸言意氣高。
黃塵足今古，白骨亂蓬蒿。

王昌齡〈長信怨〉
奉帚平明金殿開，
暫將團扇共徘徊。
玉顏不及寒鴉色，
猶帶昭陽日影來。

王維〈渭城曲〉
渭城朝雨浥輕塵，客舍青青柳色新。
勸君更盡一杯酒，西出陽關無故人。

王維〈秋夜曲〉
桂魄初生秋露微，輕羅已薄未更衣。
銀箏夜久殷勤弄，心怯空房不忍歸。

王維〈洛陽女兒行〉
洛陽女兒對門居，纔可容顏十五餘。
良人玉勒乘驄馬，侍女金盤鱠鯉魚。
畫閣朱樓盡相望，紅桃綠柳垂簷向。
羅幃送上七香車，寶扇迎歸九華帳。
狂夫富貴在青春，意氣驕奢劇季倫。
自憐碧玉親教舞，不惜珊瑚持與人。
春窗曙滅九微火，九微片片飛花璅。
戲罷曾無理曲時，妝成秪是薰香坐。
城中相識盡繁華，日夜經過趙李家。
誰憐越女顏如玉，貧賤江頭自浣紗。

王維〈老將行〉
少年十五二十時，步行奪得胡馬騎。
射殺山中白額虎，肯數鄴下黃鬚兒。
一身轉戰三千里，一劒曾當百萬師。
漢兵奮迅如霹靂，虜騎崩騰畏蒺藜。
衞青不敗由天幸，李廣無功緣數奇。
自從棄置便衰朽，世事磋跎成白首。
昔時飛箭無全目，今日垂楊生左肘。
路傍時賣故侯瓜，門前學種先生柳。
蒼茫古木連窮巷，寥落寒山對虛牖。
誓令疏勒出飛泉，不似潁川空使酒。
賀蘭山下陣如雲，羽檄交馳日夕聞。
節使三河募年少，詔書五道出將軍。
試拂鐵衣如雪色，聊持寶劒動星文。
願得燕弓射天將，恥令越甲鳴吳軍。
莫嫌舊日雲中守，猶堪一戰取功勳。

王維〈桃源行〉
漁舟逐水愛山春，兩岸桃花夾去津。
坐看紅樹不知遠，行盡青溪不見人。
山口潛行始隈隩，山開曠望旋平陸。
遙看一處攢雲樹，近入千家散花竹。
樵客初傳漢姓名，居人未改秦衣服。
居人共住武陵源，還從物外起田園。
月明松下房櫳靜，日出雲中雞犬喧。
驚聞俗客爭來集，競引還家問都邑。
平明閭巷埽花開，薄暮漁樵乘水入。
初因避地去人間，及至成仙遂不還。
峽裏誰知有人事，世中遙望空雲山。
不疑靈境難聞見，塵心未盡思鄉縣。
出洞無論隔山水，辭家終擬長游衍。
自謂經過舊不迷，安知峰壑今來變。
當時只記入山深，青溪幾曲到雲林。
春來遍是桃花水，不辨仙源何處尋。

李白〈清平調之一〉
雲想衣裳花想容，春風拂檻露華濃。
若非羣玉山頭見，會向瑤臺月下逢。

李白〈清平調之二〉
一枝紅艷露凝香，雲雨巫山枉斷腸。
借問漢宮誰得似？可憐飛燕倚新妝！

李白〈清平調之三〉
名花傾國兩相歡，長得君王帶笑看。
觧釋春風無限恨，沈香亭北倚闌干。

李白〈將進酒〉
君不見，黃河之水天上來，奔流到海不復回！
君不見，高堂明鏡悲白髮，朝如青絲暮成雪！
人生得意須盡歡，莫使金樽空對月。
天生我材必有用，千金散盡還復來。
烹羊宰牛且爲樂，會須一飲三百杯。
岑夫子，丹丘生。（將）進酒杯莫停。
與君歌一曲，請君爲我傾耳聽。
鐘鼓饌玉不足貴，但願長醉不復醒。
古來聖賢皆寂寞，惟有飲者留其名。
陳王昔時宴平樂，斗酒十千恣歡謔。
主人何為言少錢？徑須沽取對君酌。
五花馬，千金裘。
呼兒將出換美酒，與爾同銷萬古愁。

李白〈玉階怨〉
玉階生白露，夜久侵羅襪。
却下水晶簾，玲瓏望秋月。

李白〈長相思之一〉
長相思，在長安，絡緯秋啼金井闌，微霜淒淒簟色寒。
孤燈不明思欲絕，卷帷望月空長歎，美人如花隔雲端。
上有青冥之長天，下有淥水之波瀾。
天長路遠魂飛苦，夢魂不到關山難。
長相思，摧心肝。

李白〈長相思之二〉
日色欲盡花含煙，月明如素愁不眠。
趙瑟初停鳳凰柱，蜀琴欲奏鴛鴦弦。
此曲有意無人傳，願隨春風寄燕然，憶君迢迢隔青天。
昔日橫波目，今成流淚泉。
不信妾腸斷，歸來看取明鏡前。

李白〈行路難之一〉
金樽清酒斗十千，玉盤珍羞直萬錢。
停杯投筯不能食，拔劍四顧心茫然。
欲渡黃河冰塞川，將登太行雪满山。
閒來垂釣碧溪上，忽復乘舟夢日邊。
行路難！行路難！多岐路，今安在？
長風破浪會有時，直挂雲帆濟滄海。

李白〈行路難之二〉
大道如青天，我獨不得出。
羞逐長安社中兒，赤雞白狗賭梨栗。
彈劍作歌奏苦聲，曳裾王門不稱情。
淮陰市井笑韓信，漢朝公卿忌賈生。
君不見昔時燕家重郭隗，擁篲折節無嫌猜。
劇辛樂毅感恩分，輸肝剖膽效英才。
昭王白骨縈爛草，誰人更掃黃金臺。
行路難，歸去來。

李白〈行路難之三〉
有耳莫洗潁川水，有口莫食首陽蕨。
含光混世貴無名，何用孤高比雲月。
吾觀自古賢達人，功成不退皆殞身。
子胥既棄吳江上，屈原終投湘水濱。
陸機雄才豈自保，李斯稅駕苦不早。
華亭鶴唳詎可聞，上蔡蒼鷹何足道。
君不見吳中張翰稱達生，秋風忽憶江東行。
且樂生前一杯酒，何須身後千載名。

李白〈長干行〉
妾髮初覆額，折花門前劇。
郎騎竹馬來，遶牀弄青梅。
同居長干里，兩小無嫌猜。
十四爲君婦，羞顏未甞開。
低頭向暗壁，千喚不一回。
十五始展眉，願同塵與灰。
常存抱柱信，豈上望夫臺。
十六君遠行，瞿塘灩澦堆。
五月不可觸，猿聲天上哀。
門前遲行跡，一一生綠苔。
苔深不能掃，落葉秋風早。
八月胡蝶來，雙飛西園草。
感此傷妾心，坐愁紅顏老。
早晚下三巴，預將書報家。
相迎不道遠，直至長風沙。

李白〈蜀道難〉
噫吁嚱！危乎高哉！
蜀道之難，難於上青天！
蠶叢及魚鳧，開國何茫然！
爾來四萬八千歲，不與秦塞通人煙。
西當太白有鳥道，可以橫絶峨眉巔。
地崩山摧壯士死，然後天梯石棧相鉤連。
上有六龍回日之高標，
下有衝波逆折之回川。
黃鶴之飛尚不得過，猿猱欲度愁攀援。
青泥何盤盤！百步九折縈巖巒。
捫參歷井仰脅息，以手撫膺坐長歎。
問君西遊何時還？畏途巉巖不可攀。
但見悲鳥號古木，雄飛雌從繞林間。
又聞子規啼夜月，愁空山。
蜀道之難，難於上青天，
使人聽此凋朱顏！
連峯去天不盈尺，枯松倒挂倚絶壁。
飛湍瀑流爭喧豗，砯崖轉石萬壑雷。
其險也若此，嗟爾遠道之人胡爲乎來哉？
劍閣崢嶸而崔嵬，一夫當關，萬夫莫開。
所守或匪親，化爲狼與豺。
朝避猛虎，夕避長蛇。
磨牙吮血，殺人如麻。
錦城雖云樂，不如早還家。
蜀道之難，難於上青天，
側身西望長咨嗟！

李白〈子夜吳歌之春歌〉
秦地羅敷女，採桑綠水邊。
素手青條上，紅妝白日鮮。
蠶飢妾欲去，五馬莫留連。

李白〈子夜吳歌之夏歌〉
鏡湖三百里，菡萏發荷花。
五月西施採，人看隘若耶。
回舟不待月，歸去越王家。

李白〈子夜吳歌之秋歌〉
長安一片月，萬戶擣衣聲。
秋風吹不盡，總是玉關情。
何日平胡虜，良人罷遠征。

李白〈子夜吳歌之冬歌〉
明朝驛使發，一夜絮征袍。
素手抽針冷，那堪把剪刀。
裁縫寄遠道，幾日到臨洮。

李白〈關山月〉
明月出天山，蒼茫雲海間。
長風幾萬里，吹度玉門關。
漢下白登道，胡窺青海灣。
由來征戰地，不見有人還。
戍客望邊色，思歸多苦顏。
高樓當此夜，歎息未應閑。

李益〈江南曲〉
嫁得瞿塘賈，朝朝誤妾期。
早知潮有信，嫁與弄潮兒。

李頎〈古從軍行〉
白日登山望烽火，黃昏飲馬傍交河。
行人刁斗風沙暗，公主琵琶幽怨多。
野雲萬里無城郭，雨雪紛紛連大漠。
胡鴈哀鳴夜夜飛，胡兒眼淚雙雙落。
聞道玉門猶被遮，應將性命逐輕車。
年年戰骨埋荒外，空見蒲桃入漢家。

杜甫〈兵車行〉
車轔轔，馬蕭蕭，行人弓箭各在腰。
耶孃（爺娘）妻子走相送，塵埃不見咸陽橋。
牽衣頓足攔道哭，哭聲直上干雲霄。
道傍過者問行人，行人但云點行頻。
或從十五北防河，便至四十西營田。
去時里正與裹頭，歸來頭白還戍邊。
邊庭流血成海水，武皇開邊意未已。
君不聞漢家山東二百州，千村萬落生荊杞。
縱有健婦把鋤犁，禾生隴畝無東西。
況復秦兵耐苦戰，被驅不異犬與雞。
長者雖有問，役夫敢申恨？
且如今年冬，未休關西卒。
縣官急索租，租稅從何出？
信知生男惡，反是生女好。
生女猶得嫁比鄰，生男埋沒隨百草。
君不見青海頭，古來白骨無人收。
新鬼煩冤舊鬼哭，天陰雨濕聲啾啾。

杜甫〈麗人行〉
三月三日天氣新長安水邊多麗人
態濃意遠淑且眞肌理細膩骨肉勻
繡羅衣裳照暮春蹙金孔雀銀麒麟
頭上何所有翠微㔩葉垂鬢脣
背後何所見珠壓腰衱穩稱身
就中雲幕椒房親賜名大國虢與秦
紫駝之峰出翠釜水精之盤行素鱗
犀箸饜飫久未下鑾刀縷切空紛綸
黃門飛鞚不動塵御廚絡繹送八珍
簫鼓哀吟感鬼神賓從雜遝實要津
後來鞍馬何逡巡當軒下馬入錦茵
楊花雪落覆白蘋青鳥飛去銜紅巾
炙手可熱勢絕倫愼莫近前丞相嗔

杜甫〈哀江頭〉
少陵野老吞聲哭，春日潛行曲江曲。
江頭宮殿鎖千門，細柳新蒲爲誰綠。
憶昔霓旌下南苑，苑中萬物生顏色。
昭陽殿裏第一人，同輦隨君侍君側。
輦前才人帶弓箭，白馬嚼齧黃金勒。
翻身向天仰射雲，一箭正墜雙飛翼。
明眸皓齒今何在，血污遊魂歸不得。
清渭東流劒閣深，去住彼此無消息。
人生有情淚霑臆，江水江花豈終極。
黃昏胡騎塵滿城，欲往城南忘南北。

杜甫〈哀王孫〉
長安城頭頭白烏，夜飛延秋門上呼。
又向人家啄大屋，屋底達官走避胡。
金鞭斷折九馬死，骨肉不待同馳驅。
腰下寶玦青珊瑚，可憐王孫泣路隅。
問之不肯道姓名，但道困苦乞爲奴。
已經百日竄荊棘，身上無有完肌膚。
高帝子孫盡隆準，龍種自與常人殊。
豺狼在邑龍在野，王孫善保千金軀。
不敢長語臨交衢，且爲王孫立斯須。
昨夜東風吹血腥，東來橐駝滿舊都。
朔方健兒好身手，昔何勇銳今何愚。
竊聞天子已傳位，聖德北服南單于。
花門剺面請雪恥，愼勿出口他人狙。
哀哉王孫愼勿疏，五陵佳氣無時無。

杜秋娘〈金縷衣〉
勸君莫惜金縷衣，
勸君惜取少年時。
花開堪折直須折，
莫待無花空折枝。

沈佺期〈獨不見〉
盧家少婦鬱金堂，海燕雙棲玳瑁梁。
九月寒砧催木葉，十年征戍憶遼陽。
白狼河北音書斷，丹鳳城南秋夜長。
誰為含愁獨不見，更教明月照流黃。

孟郊〈烈女操〉
梧桐相待老，鴛鴦會雙死。
貞婦貴殉夫，捨生亦如此。
波瀾誓不起，妾心古井水。

孟郊〈遊子吟〉
慈母手中線，遊子身上衣。
臨行密密縫，意恐遲遲歸。
誰言寸草心，報得三春暉。

高適〈燕歌行并序〉
開元二十六年，客有從御史大夫張公出塞而還者，作《燕歌行》以示適，感征戍之事，因而和焉。
漢家煙塵在東北，漢將辭家破殘賊。
男兒本自重橫行，天子非常賜顏色。
摐金伐鼓下榆關，旌旆逶迤碣石間。
校尉羽書飛瀚海，單于獵火照狼山。
山川蕭條極邊土，胡騎憑陵雜風雨。
戰士軍前半死生，美人帳下猶歌舞。
大漠窮秋塞草腓，孤城落日鬬兵稀。
身當恩遇恆輕敵，力盡關山未解圍。
鐵衣遠戍辛勤久，玉筯應啼別離後。
少婦城南欲斷腸，征人薊北空回首。
邊庭飄颻那可度，絕域蒼茫更何有。
殺氣三時作陣雲，寒聲一夜傳刁斗。
相看白刃血紛紛，死節從來豈顧勳。
君不見沙場征戰苦，至今猶憶李將軍。

崔顥〈長干行之一〉
君家何處住？妾住在橫塘。
停船暫借問，或恐是同鄉。

崔顥〈長干行之二〉
家臨九江水，來去九江側。
同是長干人，自小不相識。

盧綸〈塞下曲之一〉
鷲翎金僕姑，
燕尾繡蝥弧。
獨立揚新令，
千營共一呼。

盧綸〈塞下曲之二〉
林暗草驚風
將軍夜引弓
平明尋白羽
沒在石稜中

盧綸〈塞下曲之三〉
月黑雁飛高，單于夜遁逃。
欲將輕騎逐，大雪滿弓刀。

盧綸〈塞下曲之四〉
野幕蔽瓊筵
羌戎賀勞旋
醉和金甲舞
雷鼓動山川

### Five-Character Regulated Verse

王勃〈送杜少府之任蜀州〉
城闕輔三秦，風煙望五津。
與君離別意，同是宦遊人。
海內存知己，天涯若比隣。
無爲在岐路，兒女共霑巾。

王維〈送梓州李使君〉
萬壑樹參天，千山響杜鵑。
山中一夜雨，樹杪百重泉。
漢女輸橦布，巴人訟芋田。
文翁翻教授，不敢倚先賢。

王維〈漢江臨眺〉
楚塞三湘接，荊門九派通。
江流天地外，山色有無中。
郡邑浮前浦，波瀾動遠空。
襄陽好風日，留醉與山翁。

王維〈終南別業〉
中歲頗好道，晚家南山陲。
興來每獨往，勝事空自知。
行到水窮處，坐看雲起時。
偶然值林叟，談笑無還期。

王維〈終南山〉
太乙近天都，連山接海隅。
白雲迴望合，青靄入看無。
分野中峰變，陰晴眾壑殊。
欲投人處宿，隔水問樵夫。

王維〈酬張少府〉
晚年唯好靜，萬事不關心。
自顧無長策，空知返舊林。
松風吹解帶，山月照彈琴。
君問窮通理，漁歌入浦深。

王維〈過香積寺〉
不知香積寺，數里入雲峰。
古木無人徑，深山何處鐘？
泉聲咽危石，日色冷青松。
薄暮空潭曲，安禪制毒龍。

王維〈輞川閑居贈裴秀才迪〉
寒山轉蒼翠，秋水日潺湲。
倚杖柴門外，臨風聽暮蟬。
渡頭餘落日，墟里上孤煙。
復值接輿醉，狂歌五柳前。

王維〈山居秋暝〉
空山新雨後，天氣晚來秋。
明月松間照，清泉石上流。
竹喧歸浣女，蓮動下漁舟。
隨意春芳歇，王孫自可留。

王維〈歸嵩山作〉
清川帶長薄，車馬去閑閑。
流水如有意，暮禽相與還。
荒城臨古渡，落日滿秋山。
迢遞嵩高下，歸來且閉關。

王灣〈次北固山下〉
客路青山外，行舟綠水前。
潮平兩岸闊，風正一帆懸。
海日生殘夜，江春入舊年。
鄉書何處達，歸雁洛陽邊。

司空曙〈雲陽館與韓紳宿別〉
故人江海別，幾度隔山川。
乍見翻疑夢，相悲各問年。
孤燈寒照雨，深竹暗浮煙。
更有明朝恨，離杯惜共傳。

司空曙〈喜外弟盧綸見宿〉
靜夜四無隣，荒居舊業貧。
雨中黃葉樹，燈下白頭人。
以我獨沈久，愧君相訪頻。
平生自有分，況是蔡家親。

司空曙〈賊平後送人北歸〉
世亂同南去，時清獨北還。
他鄉生白髮，舊國見青山。
曉月過殘壘，繁星宿故關。
寒禽與衰草，處處伴愁顏。

白居易〈賦得古原草送別〉
離離原上草，一歲一枯榮。
野火燒不盡，春風吹又生。
遠芳侵古道，晴翠接荒城。
又送王孫去，萋萋滿別情。

宋之問〈題大庾嶺北驛〉
陽月南飛雁，傳聞至此回。
我行殊未已，何日復歸來？
江靜潮初落，林昏瘴不開。
明朝望鄉處，應見隴頭梅。

岑參〈寄左省杜拾遺〉
聯步趨丹陛，分曹限紫微。
曉隨天仗入，暮惹御香歸。
白髮悲花落，青雲羨鳥飛。
聖朝無闕事，自覺諫書稀。

李白〈聽蜀僧濬彈琴〉
蜀僧抱綠綺，西下峨眉峰。
爲我一揮手，如聽萬壑松。
客心洗流水，餘響入霜鐘。
不覺碧山暮，秋雲暗幾重。

李白〈夜泊牛渚懷古〉
牛渚西江夜，青天無片雲。
登舟望秋月，空憶謝將軍。
余亦能高詠，斯人不可聞。
明朝挂帆席，楓葉落紛紛。

李白〈贈孟浩然〉
吾愛孟夫子，風流天下聞。
紅顏棄軒冕，白首臥松雲。
醉月頻中聖，迷花不事君。
高山安可仰，徒此挹清芬。

李白〈渡荊門送別〉
渡遠荆門外，來從楚國遊。
山隨平野盡，江入大荒流。
月下飛天鏡，雲生結海樓。
仍怜故鄉水，萬里送行舟。

李白〈送友人〉
青山橫北郭，白水繞東城。
此地一為別，孤蓬萬里征。
浮雲遊子意，落日故人情。
揮手自茲去，蕭蕭班馬鳴。

李益〈喜見外弟又言別〉
十年離亂後，長大一相逢。
問姓驚初見，稱名憶舊容。
別來滄海事，語罷暮天鐘。
明日巴陵道，秋山又幾重。

李商隱〈涼思〉
客去波平檻，蟬休露滿枝。
永懷當此節，倚立自移時。
北斗兼春遠，南陵寓使遲。
天涯占夢數，疑誤有新知。

李商隱〈北青蘿〉
殘陽西入崦，茅屋訪孤僧。
落葉人何在，寒雲路幾層。
獨敲初夜磬，閑倚一枝藤。
世界微塵裏，吾寧愛與憎。

李商隱〈蟬〉
本以高難飽，徒勞恨費聲。
五更疏欲斷，一樹碧無情。
薄宦梗猶泛，故園蕪已平。
煩君最相警，我亦舉家清。

李商隱〈風雨〉
淒涼寶劍篇，羈泊欲窮年。
黃葉仍風雨，青樓自管絃。
新知遭薄俗，舊好隔良緣。
心斷新豐酒，銷愁斗幾千。

李商隱〈落花〉
高閣客竟去，小園花亂飛。
參差連曲陌，迢遞送斜暉。
腸斷未忍掃，眼穿仍欲歸。
芳心向春盡，所得是沾衣。

杜甫〈登岳陽樓〉
昔聞洞庭水，今上岳陽樓。
吳楚東南坼，乾坤日夜浮。
親朋無一字，老病有孤舟。
戎馬關山北，憑軒涕泗流。

杜甫〈奉濟驛重送嚴公四韻〉
遠送從此別，青山空復情。
幾時杯重把？昨夜月同行。
列郡謳歌惜，三朝出入榮。
江村獨歸處，寂寞養殘生。

杜甫〈別房太尉墓〉
他鄉復行役，駐馬別孤墳。
近淚無乾土，低空有斷雲。
對棋陪謝傅，把劍覓徐君。
惟見林花落，鶯啼送客聞。

杜甫〈旅夜書懷〉
細草微風岸，危檣獨夜舟。
星垂平野闊，月湧大江流。
名豈文章著，官應老病休。
飄飄何所似？天地一沙鷗。

杜甫〈至德二載甫自京金光門出 間道歸鳳翔 乾元初從左拾遺移華州掾 與親故別 因出此門 有悲往事〉
此道昔歸順
西郊胡正繁
至今猶破膽
應有未招魂
近侍歸京邑
移官豈至尊
無才日衰老
駐馬望千門

杜甫〈月夜憶舍弟〉
戍鼓斷人行，邊秋一雁聲。
露從今夜白，月是故鄉明。
有弟皆分散，無家問死生。
寄書長不達，況乃未休兵。

杜甫〈天末懷李白〉
涼風起天末，君子意如何？
鴻雁幾時到？江湖秋水多。
文章憎命達，魑魅喜人過。
應共冤魂語，投詩贈汨羅。

杜甫〈月夜〉
今夜鄜州月，閨中只獨看。
遙憐小兒女，未解憶長安。
香霧雲鬟濕，清輝玉臂寒。
何時倚虛幌，雙照淚痕乾。

杜甫〈春望〉
國破山河在，城春草木深。
感時花濺淚，恨別鳥驚心。
烽火連三月，家書抵萬金。
白頭搔更短，渾欲不勝簪。

杜甫〈春宿左省〉
花隱掖垣暮，啾啾棲鳥過。
星臨萬戶動，月傍九霄多。
不寢聽金鑰，因風想玉珂。
明朝有封事，數問夜如何。

杜牧〈旅宿〉
旅館無良伴，凝情自悄然。
寒燈思舊事，斷雁警愁眠。
遠夢歸侵曉，家書到隔年。
湘江好煙月，門繫釣魚船。

杜荀鶴〈春宮怨〉
早被嬋娟誤
欲妝臨鏡慵
承恩不在貌
教妾若為容
風暖鳥聲碎
日高花影重
年年越溪女
相憶採芙蓉

杜審言〈和晉陵路丞早春遊望〉
獨有宦游人
偏驚物候新
雲霞出海曙
梅柳渡江春
淑氣催黄鳥
晴光轉綠蘋
忽聞歌古調
歸思欲沾襟

沈佺期〈雜詩〉
聞道黃龍戍，頻年不解兵。
可憐閨裡月，長在漢家營。
少婦今春意，良人昨夜情。
誰能將旗鼓，一為取龍城？

孟浩然〈宿桐廬江寄廣陵舊遊〉
山暝聽猿愁，滄江急夜流。
風鳴兩岸葉，月照一孤舟。
建德非吾土，維揚憶舊遊。
還將兩行淚，遙寄海西頭。

孟浩然〈留別王維〉
寂寂竟何時，朝朝空自歸。
欲尋芳草去，惜與故人違。
當路誰相假，知音世所稀。
祇因守寂寞，還掩故園扉。

孟浩然〈早寒有懷〉
木落雁南渡，北風江上寒。
我家襄水曲，遙隔楚雲端。
鄉淚客中盡，孤帆天際看。
迷津欲有問，平海夕漫漫。

孟浩然〈歲暮歸南山〉
北闕休上書，南山歸敝廬。
不才明主棄，多病故人疎。
白髮催年老，青陽逼歲除。
永懷愁不寐，松月夜窗虛。

孟浩然〈過故人莊〉
故人具雞黍，邀我至田家。
綠樹村邊合，青山郭外斜。
開筵面場圃，把酒話桑麻。
待到重陽日，還來就菊花。

孟浩然〈秦中感秋寄遠上人〉
一丘常欲臥，三徑苦無資。
北土非吾願，東林懷我師。
黃金然桂盡，壯志逐年衰。
日夕涼風至，聞蟬但益悲。

孟浩然〈臨洞庭贈張丞相〉
八月湖水平，涵虛混太清。
氣蒸雲夢澤，波撼岳陽城。
欲濟無舟楫，端居恥聖明。
坐觀垂釣者，徒有羨魚情。

孟浩然〈與諸子登峴山〉
人事有代謝，往來成古今。
江山留勝跡，我輩復登臨。
水落魚梁淺，天寒夢澤深。
羊公碑尚在，讀罷淚沾襟。

孟浩然〈宴梅道士山房〉
林臥愁春盡，開軒覽物華。
忽逢青鳥使，邀入赤松家。
丹竈初開火，仙桃正落花。
童顏若可駐，何惜醉流霞。

韋莊〈章臺夜思〉
清瑟怨遙夜，繞絃風雨哀。
孤燈聞楚角，殘月下章臺。
芳草已云暮，故人殊未來。
鄉書不可寄，秋雁又南迴。

韋應物〈淮上喜會梁川故人〉
江漢曾爲客，相逢每醉還。
浮雲一別後，流水十年間。
歡笑情如舊，蕭疎鬢已斑。
何因北歸去，淮上對秋山。

韋應物〈賦得暮雨送李冑〉
楚江微雨裡，建業暮鐘時。
漠漠帆來重，冥冥鳥去遲。
海門深不見，浦樹遠含滋。
相送情無限，沾襟比散絲。

唐玄宗〈經鄒魯祭孔子而歎之〉
夫子何爲者
栖栖一代中
地猶鄹氏邑
宅即魯王宮
歎鳳嗟身否
傷麟怨道窮
今看兩楹奠
當與夢時同

馬戴〈灞上秋居〉
灞原風雨定，晚見雁行頻。
落葉他鄉樹，寒燈獨夜人。
空園白露滴，孤壁野僧鄰。
寄臥郊扉久，何年致此身？

馬戴〈楚江懷古〉
露氣寒光集，微陽下楚丘。
猿啼洞庭樹，人在木蘭舟。
廣澤生明月，蒼山夾亂流。
雲中君不見，竟夕自悲秋。

崔塗〈除夜有懷〉
迢遞三巴路，羈危萬里身。
亂山殘雪夜，孤獨異鄉春。
漸與骨肉遠，轉於僮僕親。
那堪正飄泊，明日歲華新。

崔塗〈孤雁〉
幾行歸塞盡，片影獨何之。
暮雨相呼失，寒塘欲下遲。
渚雲低暗渡，關月冷相隨。
未必逢矰繳，孤飛自可疑。

常建〈題破山寺後禪院〉
清晨入古寺，初日照高林。
曲徑通幽處，禪房花木深。
山光悅鳥性，潭影空人心。
萬籟此俱寂，惟聞鐘磬音。

張九齡〈望月懷遠〉
海上生明月，天涯共此時。
情人怨遙夜，竟夕起相思。
滅燭憐光滿，披衣覺露滋。
不堪盈手贈，還寢夢佳期。

張喬〈書邊事〉
調角斷清秋，征人倚戍樓。
春風對青塚，白日落梁州。
大漠無兵阻，窮邊有客遊。
蕃情似此水，長願向南流。

張籍〈沒蕃故人〉
前年伐月支，城上沒全師。
蕃漢斷消息，死生長別離。
無人收廢帳，歸馬識殘旗。
欲祭疑君在，天涯哭此時。

許渾〈秋日赴闕題潼關驛樓〉
紅葉晚蕭蕭，長亭酒一瓢。
殘雲歸太華，疏雨過中條。
樹色隨山迥，河聲入海遙。
帝鄉明日到，猶自夢漁樵。

許渾〈早秋〉
遙夜泛清瑟，西風生翠蘿。
殘螢棲玉露，早雁拂金河。
高樹曉還密，遠山晴更多。
淮南一葉下，自覺洞庭波。

溫庭筠〈送人東遊〉
荒戍落黃葉，浩然離故關。
高風漢陽渡，初日郢門山。
江上幾人在，天涯孤棹還。
何當重相見，樽酒慰離顏。

僧皎然〈尋陸鴻漸不遇〉
移家雖帶郭，野徑入桑麻。
近種籬邊菊，秋來未著花。
扣門無犬吠，欲去問西家。
報道山中去，歸時每日斜。

劉長卿〈尋南溪常道士〉
一路經行處，莓苔見履痕。
白雲依靜渚，春草閉閑門。
過雨看松色，隨山到水源。
溪花與禪意，相對亦忘言。

劉長卿〈新年作〉
鄉心新歲切，天畔獨潸然。
老至居人下，春歸在客先。
嶺猨同旦暮，江柳共風煙。
已是長沙傅，從今又幾年。

劉長卿〈秋日登吳公臺上寺遠眺〉
古臺搖落後，秋日望鄉心。
野寺人來少，雲峰水隔深。
夕陽依舊壘，寒磬滿空林。
惆悵南朝事，長江獨至今。

劉長卿〈送李中丞歸漢陽別業〉
流落征南將，曾驅十萬師。
罷歸無舊業，老去戀明時。
獨立三邊靜，輕生一劍知。
茫茫江漢上，日暮復何之？

劉長卿〈餞別王十一南遊〉
望君煙水闊，揮手淚霑巾。
飛鳥沒何處，青山空向人。
長江一帆遠，落日五湖春。
誰見汀洲上，相思愁白蘋。

劉禹錫〈蜀先主廟〉
天地英雄氣，千秋尚凜然。
勢分三足鼎，業復五銖錢。
得相能開國，生兒不象賢。
淒涼蜀故妓，來舞魏宮前。

劉眘虛〈闕題〉
道由白雲盡，春與青溪長。
時有落花至，遠隨流水香。
閑門向山路，深柳讀書堂。
幽映每白日，清輝照衣裳。

盧綸〈送李端〉
故關衰草遍，離別正堪悲。
路出寒雲外，人歸暮雪時。
少孤為客早，多難識君遲。
掩淚空相向，風塵何處期。

錢起〈送僧歸日本〉
上國隨緣住，來途若夢行。
浮天滄海遠，去世法舟輕。
水月通禪觀，魚龍聽梵聲。
惟憐一燈影，萬里眼中明。

錢起〈谷口書齋寄楊補闕〉
泉壑帶茅茨，雲霞生薜帷。
竹憐新雨後，山愛夕陽時。
閑鷺棲常早，秋花落更遲。
家童掃蘿逕，昨與故人期。

駱賓王〈在獄詠蟬并序〉
西陸蟬聲唱
南冠客思侵
那堪玄鬢影
來對白頭吟
露重飛難進
風多響易沉
無人信高潔
誰為表予心

戴叔倫〈江鄉故人偶集客舍〉
天秋月又滿，城闕夜千重。
還作江南會，翻疑夢裡逢。
風枝驚暗鵲，露草覆寒蟲。
羈旅長堪醉，相留畏曉鐘。

韓翃〈酬程近秋夜即事見贈〉
長簟迎風早，空城澹月華。
星河秋一雁，砧杵夜千家。
節候看應晚，心期臥亦賒。
向來吟秀句，不覺已鳴鴉。

### Seven-Character Regulated Verse

元稹〈遣悲懷之一〉
謝公最小偏憐女，嫁與黔婁百事乖。
顧我無衣搜藎篋，泥他沽酒拔金釵。
野蔬充膳甘長藿，落葉添薪仰古槐。
今日俸錢過十萬，與君營奠復營齋。

元稹〈遣悲懷之二〉
昔日戲言身後意，今朝皆到眼前來。
衣裳已施行看盡，針線猶存未忍開。
尚想舊情憐婢僕，也曾因夢送錢財。
誠知此恨人人有，貧賤夫妻百事哀。

元稹〈遣悲懷之三〉
閒坐悲君亦自悲，百年都是幾多時？
鄧攸無子尋知命，潘岳悼亡猶費詞。
同穴窅冥何所望？他生緣會更難期。
惟將終夜長開眼，報答平生未展眉。

王維〈和賈舍人早朝大明宮之作〉
絳幘雞人送曉籌，尚衣方進翠雲裘。
九天閶闔開宮殿，萬國衣冠拜冕旒。
日色纔臨仙掌動，香煙欲傍衮龍浮。
朝罷須裁五色詔，佩聲歸向鳳池頭。

王維〈贈郭給事〉
洞門高閣靄餘輝，桃李陰陰柳絮飛。
禁裡疏鐘官舍晚，省中啼鳥吏人稀。
晨搖玉珮趨金殿，夕奉天書拜瑣闈。
強欲從君無那老，將因臥病解朝衣。

王維〈奉和聖製從蓬萊向興慶閣道中留春雨中春望之作應制〉
渭水自縈秦塞曲，黃山舊遶漢宮斜。
鑾輿迥出千門柳，閣道廻看上苑花。
雲裏帝城雙鳳闕，雨中春樹萬人家。
爲乘陽氣行時令，不是宸遊翫物華。

王維〈積雨輞川莊作〉
積雨空林煙火遲，蒸藜炊黍餉東菑。
漠漠水田飛白鷺，陰陰夏木囀黃鸝。
山中習靜觀朝槿，松下清齋折露葵。
野老與人爭席罷，海鷗何事更相疑。

白居易〈自河南經亂，關內阻饑，兄弟離散，各在一處。因望月有感，聊書所懷寄上，浮梁大兄，於潛七兄，烏江十五兄，兼示符離，及下邽弟妹〉
時難年飢世業空弟兄羈旅各西東
田園寥落干戈後骨肉流離道路中
弔影分爲千里雁辭根散作九秋蓬
共看明月應垂淚一夜鄉心五處同

岑參〈奉和中書舍人賈至早朝大明宮〉
雞鳴紫陌曙光寒，鶯囀皇州春色闌。
金闕曉鐘開萬戶，玉階仙仗擁千官。
花迎劒珮星初落，柳拂旌旗露未乾。
獨有鳳皇池上客，陽春一曲和皆難。

李白〈登金陵鳳凰臺〉
鳳凰臺上鳳凰遊，鳳去臺空江自流。
吳宮花草埋幽徑，晉代衣冠成古丘。
三山半落青天外，二水中分白鷺洲。
總爲浮雲能蔽日，長安不見使人愁。

李商隱〈無題〉
相見時難別亦難，東風無力百花殘。
春蠶到死絲方盡，蠟炬成灰淚始乾。
曉鏡但愁雲鬢改，夜吟應覺月光寒。
蓬山此去無多路，青鳥殷勤為探看。

李商隱〈無題之一〉
鳳尾香羅薄幾重，碧文圓頂夜深縫。
扇裁月魄羞難掩，車走雷聲語未通。
曾是寂寥金燼暗，斷無消息石榴紅。
斑騅只繫垂楊岸，何處西南待好風。

李商隱〈無題之二〉
重帷深下莫愁堂，臥後清宵細細長。
神女生涯原是夢，小姑居處本無郎。
風波不信菱枝弱，月露誰教桂葉香？
直道相思了無益，未妨惆悵是清狂。

李商隱〈錦瑟〉
錦瑟無端五十絃，一絃一柱思華年。
莊生曉夢迷蝴蝶，望帝春心託杜鵑。
滄海月明珠有淚，藍田日暖玉生煙。
此情可待成追憶，只是當時已惘然。

李商隱〈隋宮〉
隋宮
李商隱
紫泉宮殿鎖煙霞
欲取蕪城作帝家
玉璽不緣歸日角
錦帆應是到天涯
於今腐草無螢火
終古垂楊有暮鴉
地下若逢陳後主
豈宜重問後庭花

李商隱〈無題之一〉
來是空言去絕蹤，月斜樓上五更鐘。
夢為遠別啼難喚，書被催成墨未濃。
蠟照半籠金翡翠，麝熏微度繡芙蓉。
劉郎已恨蓬山遠，更隔蓬山一萬重！

李商隱〈無題之二〉
颯颯東風細雨來，芙蓉塘外有輕雷。
金蟾齧鎖燒香入，玉虎牽絲汲井回。
賈氏窺簾韓掾少，宓妃留枕魏王才。
春心莫共花爭發，一寸相思一寸灰。

李商隱〈籌筆驛〉
猿鳥猶疑畏簡書
風雲常為護儲胥
徒令上將揮神筆
終見降王走傳車
管樂有才原不忝
關張無命欲何如
他年錦里經祠廟
梁父吟成恨有餘

李商隱〈無題〉
昨夜星辰昨夜風，畫樓西畔桂堂東。
身無彩鳳雙飛翼，心有靈犀一點通。
隔座送鉤春酒暖，分曹射覆蠟燈紅。
嗟余聽鼓應官去，走馬蘭臺類轉蓬。

李商隱〈春雨〉
悵臥新春白袷衣
白門寥落意多違
紅樓隔雨相望冷
珠箔飄燈獨自歸
遠路應悲春晼晚
殘宵猶得夢依稀
玉璫緘札何由達
萬里雲羅一雁飛

李頎〈送魏萬之京〉
朝聞遊子唱離歌，昨夜微霜初渡河。
鴻鴈不堪愁裏聽，雲山況是客中過。
關城樹色催寒近，御苑砧聲向晚多。
莫見長安行樂處，空令歲月易蹉跎。

杜甫〈詠懷古跡之一〉
支離東北風塵際，漂泊西南天地間。
三峽樓臺淹日月，五溪衣服共雲山。
羯胡事主終無賴，詞客哀時且未還。
庾信平生最蕭瑟，暮年詩賦動江關。

杜甫〈詠懷古跡之二〉
搖落深知宋玉悲，風流儒雅亦吾師。
悵望千秋一灑淚，蕭條異代不同時。
江山故宅空文藻，雲雨荒臺豈夢思。
最是楚宮俱泯滅，舟人指點到今疑。

杜甫〈詠懷古跡之三〉
羣山萬壑赴荆門，生長明妃尚有村。
一去紫臺連朔漠，獨留青塚向黃昏。
畫圖省識春風面，環佩空歸月夜魂。
千載琵琶作胡語，分明怨恨曲中論。

杜甫〈詠懷古跡之四〉
蜀主窺吳幸三峽，崩年亦在永安宮。
翠華想像空山裏，玉殿虛無野寺中。
古廟杉松巢水鶴，歲時伏臘走村翁。
武侯祠屋常鄰近，一體君臣祭祀同。

杜甫〈詠懷古跡之五〉
諸葛大名垂宇宙，宗臣遺像肅清高。
三分割據紆籌策，萬古雲霄一羽毛。
伯仲之間見伊呂，指揮若定失蕭曹。
運移漢祚終難復，志決身殲軍務勞。

杜甫〈聞官軍收河南河北〉
劍外忽傳收薊北，初聞涕淚滿衣裳。
卻看妻子愁何在？漫卷詩書喜欲狂。
白日放歌須縱酒，青春作伴好還鄉。
即從巴峽穿巫峽，便下襄陽向洛陽。

杜甫〈宿府〉
清秋幕府井梧寒
獨宿江城蠟炬殘
永夜角聲悲自語
中天月色好誰看
風塵荏苒音書絕
關塞蕭條行陸難
已忍伶俜十年事
強移棲息一枝安

杜甫〈閣夜〉
歲暮陰陽催短景，天涯霜雪霽寒霄。
五更鼓角聲悲壯，三峽星河影動搖。
野哭千家聞戰伐，夷歌數處起漁樵。
臥龍躍馬終黃土，人事音書漫寂寥。

杜甫〈登高〉
風急天高猿嘯哀，
渚清沙白鳥飛回。
無邊落木蕭蕭下，
不盡長江滚滚來。
萬里悲秋常作客，
百年多病獨登臺。
艱難苦恨繁霜鬢，
潦倒新停濁酒杯。

杜甫〈登樓〉
花近高樓傷客心，萬方多難此登臨。
錦江春色來天地，玉壘浮雲變古今。
北極朝廷終不改，西山寇盜莫相侵。
可憐後主還祠廟，日暮聊為梁甫吟。

杜甫〈蜀相〉
丞相祠堂何處尋
錦官城外柏森森
映階碧草自春色
隔葉黃鸝空好音
三顧頻煩天下計
兩朝開濟老臣心
出師未捷身先死
長使英雄淚滿襟

杜甫〈客至〉
舍南舍北皆春水，
但見群鷗日日來。
花徑不曾緣客掃，
蓬門今始為君開。
盤飧市遠無兼味，
樽酒家貧只舊醅。
肯與鄰翁相對飲，
隔籬呼取盡餘杯。

杜甫〈野望〉
西山白雪三奇戍，南浦清江萬里橋。
海內風塵諸弟隔，天涯涕淚一身遙。
唯將遲暮供多病，未有涓埃答聖朝。
跨馬出郊時極目，不堪人事日蕭條。

柳宗元〈登柳州城樓寄漳汀封連四州刺史〉
城上高樓接大荒，海天愁思正茫茫。
驚風亂颭芙蓉水，密雨斜侵薜荔牆。
嶺樹重遮千里目，江流曲似九迴腸。
共來百越文身地，猶自音書滯一鄉。

皇甫冉〈春思〉
鶯啼燕語報新年，馬邑龍堆路幾千。
家住秦城鄰漢苑，心隨明月到胡天。
機中錦字論長恨，樓上花枝笑獨眠。
爲問元戎竇車騎，何時反斾勒燕然。

韋應物〈寄李儋元錫〉
去年花裏逢君別，今日花開已一年。
世事茫茫難自料，春愁黯黯獨成眠。
身多疾病思田里，邑有流亡愧俸錢。
聞道欲來相問訊，西樓望月幾廻圓。

祖詠〈望薊門〉
燕臺一望客心驚，簫鼓喧喧漢將營。
萬里寒光生積雪，三邊曙色動危旌。
沙場烽火連胡月，海畔雲山擁薊城。
少小雖非投筆吏，論功還欲請長纓。

秦韜玉〈貧女〉
蓬門未識綺羅香，擬託良媒益自傷。
誰愛風流高格調，共憐時世儉梳妝。
敢將十指誇偏巧，不把雙眉鬬畫長。
苦恨年年壓金線，爲他人作嫁衣裳。

高適〈送李少府貶峽中王少府貶長沙〉
嗟君此別意何如，駐馬銜桮問謫居。
巫峽啼猿數行淚，衡陽歸雁幾封書。
青楓江上秋天遠，白帝城邊古木疎。
聖代即今多雨露，暫時分手莫躊躇。

崔曙〈九日登望仙臺呈劉明府〉
漢文皇帝有高臺，此日登臨曙色開。
三晉雲山皆北向，二陵風雨自東來。
關門令尹誰能識，河上仙翁去不回。
且欲近尋彭澤宰，陶然共醉菊花杯。

崔顥〈黃鶴樓〉
昔人已乘黃鶴去，此地空餘黃鶴樓。
黃鶴一去不復返，白雲千載空悠悠。
晴川歷歷漢陽樹，芳草萋萋鸚鵡洲。
日暮鄉關何處是？煙波江上使人愁。

崔顥〈行經華陰〉
岧嶤太華俯咸京，天外三峰削不成。
武帝祠前雲欲散，仙人掌上雨初晴。
河山北枕秦關險，驛樹西連漢畤平。
借問路傍名利客，無如此處學長生。

溫庭筠〈利洲南渡〉
澹然空水對斜暉，曲島蒼茫接翠微。
波上馬嘶看棹去，柳邊人歇待船歸。
數叢沙草群鷗散，萬頃江田一鷺飛。
誰解乘舟尋范蠡，五湖煙水獨忘機。

溫庭筠〈蘇武廟〉
蘇武魂銷漢使前，古祠高樹兩茫然。
雲邊雁斷胡天月，隴上羊歸塞草煙。
回日樓臺非甲帳，去時冠劍是丁年。
茂陵不見封侯印，空向秋波哭逝川。

劉長卿〈江州重別薛六柳八二員外〉
生涯豈料承優詔，世事空知學醉歌。
江上月明胡鴈過，淮南木落楚山多。
寄身且喜滄洲近，顧影無如白髮何。
今日龍鍾人共棄，媿君猶遣慎風波。

劉長卿〈長沙過賈誼宅〉
三年謫宦此棲遲，萬古惟留楚客悲。
秋草獨尋人去後，寒林空見日斜時。
漢文有道恩猶薄，湘水無情弔豈知。
寂寂江山搖落處，憐君何事到天涯。

劉長卿〈自夏口至鸚鵡洲望岳陽寄元中丞〉
汀洲無浪復無煙，楚客相思益渺然。
漢口夕陽斜渡鳥，洞庭秋水遠連天。
孤城背嶺寒吹角，獨樹臨江夜泊船。
賈誼上書憂漢室，長沙謫去古今憐。

劉禹錫〈西塞山懷古〉
王濬樓船下益州，金陵王氣黯然收。
千尋鐵鎖沈江底，一片降旛出石頭。
人世幾回傷往事，山形依舊枕寒流。
今逢四海為家日，故壘蕭蕭蘆荻秋。

盧綸〈晚次鄂州〉
雲開遠見漢陽城，猶是孤帆一日程。
估客晝眠知浪靜，舟人夜語覺潮生。
三湘衰鬢逢秋色，萬里歸心對月明。
舊業已隨征戰盡，更堪江上鼓鼙聲。

錢起〈贈闕下裴舍人〉
二月黃鶯飛上林，春城紫禁曉陰陰。
長樂鐘聲花外盡，龍池柳色雨中深。
陽和不散窮途恨，霄漢長懷捧日新。
獻賦十年猶未遇，羞將白髮對華簪。

薛逢〈宮詞〉
十二樓中盡曉妝，望仙樓上望君王。
鎖銜金獸連環冷，水滴銅龍晝漏長。
雲髻罷梳還對鏡，羅衣欲換更添香。
遙窺正殿簾開處，袍袴宮人掃御床。

韓翃〈同題仙遊觀〉
仙臺初見五城樓
風物淒淒宿雨收
山色遙連秦樹晚
砧聲近報漢宮秋
疏松影落空壇靜
細草香閑小洞幽
何用別尋方外去
人間亦自有丹丘

### Five-Character Quatrains

元稹〈行宮〉
寥落古行宮，宮花寂寞紅。
白頭宮女在，閑坐說玄宗。

王之渙〈登鸛雀樓〉
白日依山盡，黃河入海流。
欲窮千里目，更上一層樓。

王建〈新嫁娘〉
三日入廚下，洗手作羹湯。
未諳姑食性，先遣小姑嘗。

王維〈相思〉
紅豆生南國，春來發幾枝。
願君多采擷，此物最相思。

王維〈雜詩〉
君自故鄉來，應知故鄉事。
來日綺窗前，寒梅着花未。

王維〈鹿柴〉
空山不見人，但聞人語響。
返景入深林，復照青苔上。

王維〈竹里館〉
獨坐幽篁裏，彈琴復長嘯。
深林人不知，明月來相照。

王維〈送別〉
山中相送罷，日暮掩柴扉。
春草明年綠，王孫歸不歸。

白居易〈問劉十九〉
綠螘新醅酒，
紅泥小火爐。
晚來天欲雪，
能飲一杯無？

西鄙人〈哥舒歌〉
北斗七星高，哥舒夜帶刀。
至今窺牧馬，不敢過臨洮。

李白〈靜夜思〉
牀前看月光，
疑是地上霜。
舉頭望山月，
低頭思故鄉。

李白〈怨情〉
美人捲珠簾，深坐顰蛾眉。
但見淚痕濕，不知心恨誰。

李商隱〈登樂游原〉
向晚意不適驅車登古原
夕陽無限好只是近黃昏

李端〈聽箏〉
鳴箏金粟柱，素手玉房前。
欲得周郎顧，時時誤拂弦。

李頻〈渡漢江〉
嶺外音書絕
經冬復歷春
近鄉情更怯
不敢問來人

杜甫〈八陣圖〉
功蓋三分國，名成八陣圖。
江流石不轉，遺恨失吞吳。

孟浩然〈宿建德江〉
移舟泊煙渚，日暮客愁新。
野曠天低樹，江清月近人。

孟浩然〈春曉〉
春眠不覺曉，處處聞啼鳥。
夜來風雨聲，花落知多少。

金昌緒〈春怨〉
打起黃鶯兒，莫教枝上啼。
啼時驚妾夢，不得到遼西。

柳宗元〈江雪〉
千山鳥飛絕，萬徑人蹤滅。
孤舟簑笠翁，獨釣寒江雪。

韋應物〈秋夜寄丘員外〉
懷君屬秋夜，
散步詠涼天。
空山松子落，
幽人應未眠。

祖詠〈終南望餘雪〉
終南陰嶺秀，積雪浮雲端。
林表明霽色，城中增暮寒。

張祜〈何滿子〉
故國三千里
深宮二十年
一聲何滿子
雙淚落君前

賈島〈尋隱者不遇〉
松下問童子，言師採藥去。
只在此山中，雲深不知處。

裴迪〈送崔九〉
歸山深淺去，
須盡丘壑美。
莫學武陵人，
暫遊桃源裡。

劉長卿〈送靈澈〉
蒼蒼竹林寺，杳杳鐘聲晚。
荷笠帶夕陽，青山獨歸遠。

劉長卿〈彈琴〉
泠泠七絲上，靜聽松風寒。
古調雖自愛，今人多不彈。

劉長卿〈送上人〉
孤雲將野鶴，豈向人間住？
莫買沃洲山，時人已知處。

權德輿〈玉臺體〉
昨夜裙帶解，
今朝蟢子飛。
鉛華不可棄，
莫是藁砧歸。

### Seven-Character Quatrains

王昌齡〈芙蓉樓送辛漸〉
寒雨連江夜入吳，平明送客楚山孤。
洛陽親友如相問，一片冰心在玉壺。

王昌齡〈閨怨〉
閨中少婦不曾愁，春日凝妝上翠樓。
忽見陌頭楊柳色，悔教夫婿覓封侯。

王昌齡〈春宮曲〉
昨夜風開露井桃，未央前殿月輪高。
平陽歌舞新承寵，簾外春寒賜錦袍。

王維〈九月九日憶山東兄弟〉
獨在異鄉為異客，每逢佳節倍思親。
遙知兄弟登高處，遍插茱萸少一人。

王翰〈涼州詞〉
葡萄美酒夜光杯，欲飲琵琶馬上催。
醉臥沙場君莫笑，古來征戰幾人回。

白居易〈宮詞〉
淚濕羅巾夢不成，
夜深前殿按歌聲。
紅顏未老恩先斷，
斜倚薰籠坐到明。

朱慶餘〈宮中詞〉
寂寂花時閉院門，
美人相並立瓊軒。
含情欲說宮中事，
鸚鵡前頭不敢言。

朱慶餘〈近試上張水部〉
洞房昨夜停紅燭，待曉堂前拜舅姑。
妝罷低聲問夫婿，畫眉深淺入時無？

岑參〈逢入京使〉
故園東望路漫漫，雙袖龍鍾淚不乾。
馬上相逢無紙筆，憑君傳語報平安。

李白〈送孟浩然之廣陵〉
故人西辭黃鶴樓，
煙花三月下揚州。
孤帆遠影碧山盡，
唯見長江天際流。

李白〈下江陵〉
朝辭白帝彩雲間，
千里江陵一日還。
兩岸猿聲啼不盡，
輕舟已過萬重山。

李益〈夜上受降城聞笛〉
回樂峰前沙似雪，受降城下月如霜。
不知何處吹蘆管，一夜征人盡望鄉。

李商隱〈賈生〉
宣室求賢訪逐臣，賈生才調更無倫。
可憐夜半虛前席，不問蒼生問鬼神。

李商隱〈隋宮〉
乘興南遊不戒嚴
九重誰省諫書函
春風舉國裁宮錦
半作障泥半作帆

李商隱〈瑤池〉
瑤池阿母綺窗開
黃竹歌聲動地哀
八駿日行三萬里
穆王何事不重來

李商隱〈嫦娥〉
雲母屏風燭影深
長河漸落曉星沉
嫦娥應悔偷靈藥
碧海青天夜夜心

李商隱〈夜雨寄北〉
君問歸期未有期
巴山夜雨漲秋池
何當共剪西窗燭
卻話巴山夜雨時

李商隱〈寄令狐郎中〉
嵩雲秦樹久離居
雙鯉迢迢一紙書
休問梁園舊賓客
茂陵秋雨病相如

李商隱〈為有〉
為有雲屏無限嬌
鳳城寒盡怕春宵
無端嫁得金龜婿
辜負香衾事早朝

杜甫〈江南逢李龜年〉
岐王宅裏尋常見，崔九堂前㡬度聞。
正是江南好風景，落花時節又逢君。

杜牧〈贈別之一〉
娉娉褭褭十三餘，
荳蔻梢頭二月初。
春風十里揚州路，
卷上珠簾總不如。

杜牧〈贈別之二〉
多情卻似總無情，
唯覺尊前笑不成。
蠟燭有心還惜別，
替人垂淚到天明。

杜牧〈金谷園〉
繁華事散逐香塵
流水無情草自春
日暮東風怨啼鳥
落花猶似墜樓人

杜牧〈寄揚州韓綽判官〉
青山隱隱水迢迢，
秋盡江南草未凋。
二十四橋明月夜，
玉人何處教吹簫？

杜牧〈遣懷〉
落魄江湖載酒行，
楚腰纖細掌中輕；
十年一覺揚州夢，
贏得青樓薄幸名。

杜牧〈秋夕〉
銀燭秋光冷畫屏，
輕羅小扇撲流螢。
天階夜色涼如水，
臥看牽牛織女星。

杜牧〈將赴吳興登樂游原〉
清時有味是無能，閑愛孤云靜愛僧。
欲把一麾江海去，樂游原上望昭陵。

杜牧〈赤壁〉
折戟沉沙鐵未銷，自將磨洗認前朝。
東風不與周郎便，銅雀春深鎖二喬。

杜牧〈泊秦淮〉
煙籠寒水月籠沙夜泊秦淮近酒家
商女不知亡國恨隔江猶唱後庭花

柳中庸〈征人怨〉
歲歲金河復玉關，
朝朝馬策與刀環。
三春白雪歸青塚，
萬里黃河繞黑山。

韋莊〈金陵圖〉
誰為傷心畫不成
畫人心逐世人情
君看六幅南朝事
老木寒雲滿故城

韋應物〈滁州西澗〉
獨憐幽草澗邊生，上有黃鸝深樹鳴。
春潮帶雨晚來急，野渡無人舟自橫。

張旭〈桃花谿〉
隱隱飛橋隔野煙，石磯西畔問漁船。
桃花盡日隨流水，洞在清谿何處邊。

張泌〈寄人〉
別夢依依到謝家，小廊迴合曲闌斜。
多情只有春庭月，猶為離人照落花。

張祜〈題金陵渡〉
金陵津渡小山樓，
一宿行人自可愁。
潮落夜江斜月裡，
兩三星火是瓜洲。

張祜〈贈內人〉
禁門宮樹月痕過，媚眼惟看宿鷺窠。
斜拔玉釵燈影畔，剔開紅燄救飛蛾。

張祜〈集靈臺之一〉
日光斜照集靈台，紅樹花迎曉露開。
昨夜上皇新授籙，太真含笑入簾來。

張祜〈集靈臺之二〉
虢國夫人承主恩，
平明騎馬入宮門。
卻嫌脂粉污顏色，
淡掃蛾眉朝至尊。

張繼〈楓橋夜泊〉
月落烏啼霜滿天，江楓漁火對愁眠。
姑蘇城外寒山寺，夜半鐘聲到客船。

陳陶〈隴西行〉
誓掃匈奴不顧身，五千貂錦喪胡塵。
可憐無定河邊骨，猶是深閨夢裏人。

無名氏〈雜詩〉
盡寒食雨草萋萋，著麥苗風柳映堤。
等是有家歸未得，杜鵑休向耳邊啼。

賀知章〈回鄉偶書〉
少小離家老大回，鄉音無改鬢毛衰，
兒童相見不相識，笑問客從何處來。

溫庭筠〈瑤瑟怨〉
冰簟銀牀夢不成，碧天如水夜雲輕。
雁聲遠過瀟湘去，十二樓中月自明。

劉方平〈月夜〉
更深月色半人家，
北斗闌干南斗斜。
今夜偏知春氣暖，
蟲聲新透綠窗沙。

劉方平〈春怨〉
紗窗日落漸黃昏，金屋無人見淚痕。
寂寞空庭春欲晚，梨花滿地不開門。

劉禹錫〈烏衣巷〉
朱雀橋邊野草花，
烏衣巷口夕陽斜。
舊時王謝堂前燕，
飛入尋常百姓家。

劉禹錫〈春詞〉
新妝宜面下朱樓，
深鎖春光一院愁。
行到中庭數花朵，
蜻蜓飛上玉搔頭。

鄭畋〈馬嵬坡〉
玄宗回馬楊妃死，
雲雨難忘日月新。
終是聖明天子事，
景陽宮井又何人？

韓翃〈寒食〉
春城無處不飛花，寒食東風御柳斜。
日暮漢宮傳蠟燭，輕煙散入五侯家。

韓偓〈已涼〉
碧闌干外繡簾垂，猩色屏風畫折枝。
八尺龍鬚方錦褥，已涼天氣未寒時。

顧況〈宮詞〉
玉樓天半起笙歌，風送宮嬪笑語和。
月殿影開聞夜漏，水晶簾卷近銀河。

## Translation — Mouseia

> Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the classical Chinese, passage for passage, covering the compiler’s preface and all 321 poems in the seven form sections.

### The Compiler’s Preface

When ordinary children begin school, they are given the Thousand Family Poems for its ease of memorization, and so it has never fallen out of circulation. Yet its poems were gathered haphazardly, with no distinction between skillful and clumsy; moreover, they comprise only regulated and quatrain verse in five and seven characters, with Tang and Song poets mingled indiscriminately, a serious violation of proper form. I have therefore selected from the Tang poems on everyone's lips the most essential examples, several dozen in each form, more than three hundred poems altogether, and compiled them into a schoolbook for home instruction. Children who learn them will not be able to put them aside even when their hair turns white. Is this not far better than the Thousand Family Poems? As the saying goes: “Read three hundred Tang poems until you know them by heart, and even if you cannot write poetry, you can recite it.” I ask you to test that saying with this collection.

### Five-Character Old-Style Poems

Yuan Jie — To the Officials after the Rebels' Retreat
In former years, when peace prevailed, I lived twenty years among the hills and woods.
Springs flowed beside my courtyard gate; ravines opened before my door.
The well tax fell due at a fixed time; I could still sleep late into the day.
Then suddenly the world was overturned; for years I lived close to the banners of war.
Now I have come to govern this prefecture, and the hill tribes rise again in turmoil.
The town was too small for the rebels to slaughter; its people too poor to be worth their cruelty.
Thus neighboring districts were overrun, while this prefecture alone was spared.
But the envoys who bear the king's commands—are they not worse than the rebels?
They order tax collectors to press the people as though roasting them over fire.
Who could destroy human lives just to become a worthy man in the eyes of the age?
I would cast away my official seal and take up a pole to punt my own boat,
Bring my family to fish and grain, and grow old beside the rivers and lakes.

Wang Changling — Watching the Moon in the Southern Study with My Younger Cousin, Remembering Magistrate Cui of Shanyin
As I lie at ease in the southern study, I open the curtain: the moon has just risen.
Its clear light washes the trees and water, rippling across the windowpanes.
Slowly it has waxed and waned so many times; serenely it has watched ages change.
My dear friend is on the clear riverbank, singing a bitter Yue song tonight.
What can we do about the thousand miles between us? A faint wind stirs the orchids and sweet herbs.

Wang Wei — Sending Qiwu Qian Home after He Failed the Examinations
In a sage age there are no hermits; all gifted spirits come to offer their service.
Even a recluse of the eastern hills cannot linger gathering bracken.
You have reached the distant ruler's gate; who says our way is wrong?
Cross the rivers in the Cold Food season; near the capitals spring garments are being sewn.
We set out wine beside the long road; my kindred spirit goes away from me.
Soon you will launch a cassia-wood oar, then sweep aside your brushwood door.
Distant trees frame the traveler; a lone village faces the setting sun.
My counsel happened not to be accepted; do not say there are few who understand you.

Wang Wei — Farewell
I dismount to offer you wine, and ask where you are going.
You say your hopes have come to nothing; you will lie at rest by the southern mountains.
Go, then; I will ask no more. The white clouds will never end.

Wang Wei — Clear Creek
Whenever I enter Yellow Flower River, I follow the Clear Creek's waters.
They wind ten thousand times with the mountains, though the journey is less than a hundred miles.
Among jumbled rocks their voice is loud; deep in the pines their color grows still.
They ripple over water chestnuts and pondweed, shine clear among reeds and rushes.
My heart has long been quiet; this limpid stream is quiet too.
Let me stay upon its broad rock and fish here until my days are done.

Wang Wei — Farmhouse on the Wei River
The slanting sun lights the village; down the narrow lane cattle and sheep come home.
An old man worries for the herdboy, leaning on his staff by the brushwood gate.
Pheasants call as the wheat comes into ear; silkworms sleep, and mulberry leaves grow thin.
Farmers arrive with hoes on their shoulders; meeting, they linger in conversation.
I envy such ease, and sadly sing, “Let us go home.”

Wang Wei — Song of Xi Shi
The whole world treasures beauty: could Xi Shi remain unknown for long?
At dawn a girl beside a stream in Yue; by dusk a consort in the palace of Wu.
When lowly she seemed no different from the rest; once exalted, they saw how rare she was.
She had others apply her fragrant powder, never put on her silk garments herself.
Her lord's favor deepened her coquettishness; in his love she knew no right or wrong.
The companions who once washed silk beside her could not ride home in her carriage.
Tell the girl next door: how can mimicking her frown bring you the same fortune?

Cen Shen — Climbing the Pagoda of Ci'en Temple with Gao Shi and Xue Ju
The tower rises as if surging from the earth, alone and lofty against heaven's palace.
We climb beyond the mortal world; the staircase winds through empty air.
Its massive height towers over the divine realm, its rugged form the work of spirits.
Its four corners obstruct the white sun; its seven stories brush the azure sky.
Peering down, we point to birds flying high; bending low, we hear the startled wind.
The linked mountains swell like waves, surging together as if toward the eastern court.
Green locust trees flank the imperial road; how exquisite the palace halls!
Autumn comes from the west, its somber colors filling Guanzhong.
Above the northern plain lie the Five Mausoleums, veiled in blue through all the ages.
The pure teaching becomes clear to me; its excellent cause has long been my devotion.
I vow to hang up my official cap and go; the path of awakening offers endless strength.

Li Bai — Descending Mount Zhongnan, Spending the Night Drinking at Recluse Husi's House
At dusk I came down from the green mountain, the mountain moon following me home.
I looked back on the path I had taken, where deep green crossed the mountain haze.
Hand in hand we reached his farmhouse; his children opened the brushwood gate.
Green bamboo led along the secluded path; dark vines brushed my traveling clothes.
Gladly we spoke, finding a place to rest; together we poured fine wine.
We sang long songs of wind in the pines; by the last tune, stars above the river had thinned.
I was drunk and you were happy too; in our delight we forgot the world's designs.

Li Bai — Drinking Alone beneath the Moon
Among the flowers, a jug of wine; I drink alone, with no one near.
I raise my cup to invite the bright moon; my shadow and I make three.
The moon knows nothing about drinking; my shadow merely follows my body.
For now I keep them both beside me; spring is the time to take our pleasure.
I sing and the moon wanders; I dance and my shadow scatters wildly.
While sober we share our joy; once drunk, each goes a separate way.
Let us bind ourselves in friendship beyond human feeling, and meet beyond the distant Milky Way.

Li Bai — Spring Longing
In Yan the grass is like threads of green silk; in Qin the mulberries bow with green boughs.
When you begin to dream of coming home, my heart is already breaking.
Spring wind, we have never met; why do you enter my silk curtains?

Du Fu — Gazing at Mount Tai
What is the great Mount Tai like? Its green has no end across Qi and Lu.
Creation has gathered wonders there; its sunny and shaded slopes divide dawn from dusk.
Layered clouds rise and swell my chest; my eyes strain to follow birds returning home.
One day I will stand upon its highest peak and see all other mountains small.

Du Fu — To the Retired Scholar Wei Eight
In life we seldom meet, like Shen and Shang, stars that never share the sky.
What night is this tonight, when we can share this candlelight?
How little time we have in youth; the hair at both our temples is already gray.
Half the old friends I ask about are ghosts; at the news I cry out, my heart burning.
Who could have known that after twenty years I would enter your hall again?
When we parted you were not yet married; suddenly your children stand in a row.
Delighted, they greet their father's friend with respect and ask where I have come from.
Before our questions and answers end, you send them to set out the wine.
In night rain they cut spring chives, and cook fresh rice mixed with yellow millet.
You say it is hard for us to meet, and raise your cup ten times in succession.
Ten cups cannot make me drunk; I am moved by the constancy of your friendship.
Tomorrow the mountains will part us; all that lies ahead is dark to us both.

Du Fu — A Beautiful Woman
There is a beauty beyond compare, living alone in a deserted valley.
She says she came from a noble house; fallen from fortune, she dwells among grass and trees.
When war and ruin struck Guanzhong, her brothers were killed.
What good were their high offices? No one could even gather their remains.
The world despises those whose fortunes fail; all things turn like a candle flame.
Her husband was a fickle man; his new wife is lovely as jade.
Even the silk tree knows when to close its leaves; mandarin ducks do not sleep alone.
He sees only the new wife's laughter; how could he hear the old wife's tears?
Within the mountains the spring water runs clear; beyond them it runs muddy.
Her maid returns from selling pearls; they pull vines to mend the thatched hut.
She plucks flowers but does not put them in her hair; she gathers armfuls of cypress.
In cold weather her green sleeves are thin; at dusk she leans against the tall bamboo.

Du Fu — Dreaming of Li Bai, First Poem
At parting from the dead we choke back our voices; parting from the living leaves a lasting ache.
The south of the Yangzi is a land of fever and plague; no word comes from the man in exile.
My old friend entered my dream, for he knows how endlessly I think of him.
But I fear it was not his living soul; the road is far and unknowable.
His spirit came through green maple leaves; it returned past dark frontier passes.
You are caught in a net now—how could you have wings to fly here?
The setting moon filled the rafters with light; I almost thought it shone upon your face.
The waters are deep, the waves are wide: do not let the dragons seize you.

Du Fu — Dreaming of Li Bai, Second Poem
Clouds drift all day long; the wanderer has not come in so long.
For three nights I have dreamed of you; your close affection shows how much you care.
Each time you leave, you seem uneasy; you tell me bitterly how hard it is to come.
On rivers and lakes the storms are many; you fear your boat will founder.
At the door you scratch your white head, as though your life's hopes had gone astray.
The capital is full of caps and carriages; you alone are worn with suffering.
Who says the net of heaven is wide? In old age you are still ensnared.
Your name will live a thousand years; what comfort is fame when you are dead?

Meng Haoran — Climbing Mount Lan in Autumn, Sent to Zhang Five
Among the white clouds of the northern mountain, a recluse finds his own delight.
I climb high to look toward you; my thoughts fly out and vanish with the birds.
Sorrow rises with the gathering dusk; the clear autumn stirs my inspiration.
Now and then I see villagers going home, walking the sand, resting at the ferry.
Trees on the horizon look like shepherd's purse; boats by the river look like crescent moons.
When will you bring wine here, so we can drink together at the Double Ninth?

Meng Haoran — Thinking of Xin the Elder at the Southern Pavilion on a Summer Day
The mountain sunlight suddenly sinks west; the moon above the pool slowly rises east. I loosen my hair in the evening cool, open the window and lie in the airy room.
The breeze across the lotus brings fragrance; dew falling from bamboo rings clear. I want to take up my singing zither, but no one who understands its music is here.
This brings my old friend to mind; all midnight I am troubled by dreams of him.

Meng Haoran — Staying at Master Ye's Mountain Retreat, Awaiting Ding the Elder Who Did Not Come
The setting sun passes the western ridge; suddenly all the ravines are dark.
A moon among pines gives birth to night's chill; wind and springs fill the air with lucid sound.
The woodcutters have nearly all gone home; birds in the mist are just settling to roost.
You had promised to come and stay; my lone zither waits beside the vine-grown path.

Qiu Wei — Seeking the Recluse of the Western Mountain, but Failing to Meet Him
At the summit stands a thatched hut, thirty miles of steep ascent away.
I knock at the gate: no servant answers; looking in, I see only a desk and stool.
If he has not tied on his scarf and taken his rough cart, he must be fishing in autumn waters.
By a stroke of chance we missed each other; in vain I strained to pay my respects.
The grass gleams in new rain; pine winds sound through the evening window.
Yet meeting this profound seclusion is enough to cleanse my heart and ears.
Though we cannot share the welcome of host and guest, I have found the truth of stillness.
Only when my pleasure ends do I descend; why must I wait for him?

Liu Zongyuan — Reading Buddhist Scriptures at Master Chao's Monastery in the Morning
I draw well water to rinse my cold teeth; with a pure heart I brush dust from my robe.
I take a palm-leaf scripture in my hand and stroll from the eastern room to read.
The true source offers nothing to grasp; the world pursues the traces of illusion.
I hope to fathom the words left behind; how else can I cultivate my nature?
The master's courtyard is still; moss spreads beneath the deep bamboo.
After sunrise, mist and dew remain; the green pines shine as though freshly washed.
Serene, beyond the reach of words, I understand, and my heart finds joy enough.

Liu Zongyuan — Living beside a Stream
Long bound by cap and sash, I am fortunate to be exiled among the southern tribes.
At leisure I live next to farmers and gardeners, almost a guest of the hills and woods.
At dawn I plow, turning dew-drenched grass; at night my oar strikes stones in the stream.
Coming and going, I meet no one; I sing out beneath the blue Chu sky.

Wei Yingwu — Banqueting with Men of Letters in My Prefectural Residence during Rain
Armed guards stand close beneath painted halberds; pure incense hangs in my private chamber.
Wind and rain come from the sea; I wander free amid the cool pond pavilions.
My wearisome illness has nearly passed; honored guests fill the hall again.
I am ashamed to live so grandly when I have not seen the people prosper.
Understanding sets right and wrong aside; an open nature forgets outward forms.
The season's ban forbids fresh meat and rich foods; fortunately we can taste fruit and greens.
I lower my head to drink a cup of wine; I raise it to hear verses bright as gold and jade.
My spirit rejoices and my body grows light; I long to soar upon the wind.
The Wu region abounds in letters and history; its many talents gather here like a vast sea.
Now I know a great province's strength does not lie in taxes and wealth alone.

Wei Yingwu — Leaving Yangzi for the First Time, Sent to Yuan the Elder, Text Collator
Sorrowfully I leave those I love and drift into the mist.
The man from Luoyang rows home; the last bell fades among Guangling's trees.
Today we part here: where shall we meet again?
The world's affairs are boats upon waves; how could they ever rest, going downstream or back?

Wei Yingwu — To the Daoist Priest in the Mountains at Quanjiao
This morning the prefectural office is cold; suddenly I think of my guest in the hills.
You bundle brushwood at the bottom of a ravine, return to cook your white stones.
I long to bring you a gourd of wine and comfort you on this stormy evening.
Fallen leaves fill the empty mountain; where could I find your tracks?

Wei Yingwu — Meeting Feng Zhu in Chang'an
A traveler has come from the east, the rain of Baling still on his clothes.
I ask why he has come; he says he is buying an ax to gather wood on the mountain.
Dimly, the flowers are coming into bloom; lightly, new swallows raise their young.
We parted only yesterday, and now it is spring; how many new threads of gray mark our temples?

Wei Yingwu — Mooring at Xuyi County in the Evening
I lower my sail and linger at the Huai River town; my boat stops beside a lonely inn.
The wind swells the wide waves; in deepening gloom the sun sinks into dusk.
People return to the dark-walled hill town; geese descend onto the pale reed islet.
Alone at night I remember the Qin passes, a wakeful traveler listening to bells.

Wei Yingwu — Eastern Suburbs
All year confined to the government lodge, I go out at clear dawn into the open country.
The willows scatter a mild breeze; green hills quiet my thoughts.
I rest beside a thicket, then follow a brook and walk on again.
A light rain veils the fragrant plain; where is the spring dove calling?
My heart longs to linger in quiet places, yet official work keeps me hurrying.
One day I will give it up and build a cottage; I might yet follow the example of Tao.

Wei Yingwu — Sending My Daughter of the Yang Family Away
The long day has been full of grief; now as you leave home, the road stretches far.
My daughter goes away today, upstream on the great river in a light boat.
You sisters have suffered without a mother; I think of you with ever more tenderness.
The elder raised the younger from childhood; now at parting both weep without end.
At the sight, my heart knots within me, but duty calls you away; I cannot keep you.
Without a mother's teaching since childhood, I worry how you will serve your husband's mother.
But I entrust you to a worthy family; with their kindness I hope no fault will come of it.
Poverty and thrift are things to prize; why must your dowry be complete?
Honor your elders and follow a wife's duties; let your conduct accord with what is right.
We part this morning; in what autumn shall I see you again?
At home in peace I begin to console myself; facing this moment, grief overcomes me.
I return and look at my younger daughter; tears stream down the tassels of my cap.

Chang Jian — Spending the Night at Wang Changling's Retreat
The clear stream is fathomless; above his secluded dwelling floats only a solitary cloud.
A slender moon appears among the pines; its clear light still shines for you.
Flower shadows rest on the thatched pavilion; moss patterns flourish in the herb garden.
I too will take leave of the age and join the phoenixes and cranes of the western hills.

Zhang Jiuling — Meditations, First Poem
A lone wild goose comes from the sea, not daring to look at the little pools.
To one side it sees two kingfishers nesting in a three-pearl tree.
Perched proudly atop that precious tree, do they not fear a hunter's golden shot?
Splendid dress invites a pointing finger; high station draws the gods' displeasure.
Now I fly through the dark immensity: what can the archer covet in me?

Zhang Jiuling — Meditations, Second Poem
Orchid leaves flourish in spring; cassia flowers shine brightly in autumn.
So joyful is their living vigor that each makes its season beautiful.
Who knows the woodland dweller who hears of their fragrance and delights in them?
Grass and trees have hearts of their own; why should they seek a beauty's hand to pluck them?

Zhang Jiuling — Meditations, Third Poem
I return to the secluded woods and lie alone, cleansing my solitary spirit in the open stillness.
With this I take leave of the high-flying bird, entrusting it with my distant affection.
At morning and dusk I cherish an empty hope; who among men can feel my deepest sincerity?
The flying and the sunken are sundered by nature; what can console my faithful heart?

Zhang Jiuling — Meditations, Fourth Poem
South of the Yangzi grows a red mandarin tree; even through winter its leaves stay green.
It is not merely that the earth there is warm; it has a heart that withstands the year's cold.
Its fruit might be offered to honored guests; but deep distances stand in the way.
Fate depends upon what chances come; its turning cannot be traced.
People talk only of planting peach and plum: does this tree give no shade?

Qiwu Qian — A Spring Boat Ride on Ruoye Creek
My longing for seclusion never ends; wherever this voyage leads, I will follow.
The evening breeze bears my boat along; a path among blossoms enters the creek's mouth.
As night falls I turn toward the western ravine; beyond the mountain I see the Southern Dipper.
Mist rises softly above the pool; the moon hangs low behind the woods.
Let the affairs of life remain a distant blur; I wish to be an old man with a fishing rod.

### Seven-Character Old-Style Poems

Yuan Jie — Drunken Song on Stone Fish Lake, with Preface
Stone Fish Lake is like Dongting Lake: in summer the waters swell around green Mount Jun.
The mountain is our wine jar, the waters our pool; drinkers sit scattered over the islets.
A great wind drives high waves day after day, yet no one stops bringing the boat of wine.
I sit on Ba Hill with a long ladle, pouring for everyone to ease their sorrow.

Bai Juyi — Song of Everlasting Sorrow
The Han emperor prized beauty and sought one to captivate a kingdom; for many years of rule his search was vain.
The Yang family had a daughter just grown, kept in the inner rooms, unknown to the world.
Beauty born in her could not remain hidden; one morning she was chosen to stand beside the king.
She turned and smiled, and a hundred charms came alive; the painted beauties of the six palaces paled.
In spring's cold he granted her a bath in Huaqing Pool; the warm water slid over her soft white skin.
Attendants raised her, delicate and weak: this was the hour when favor first descended on her.
Cloudlike hair, flowerlike face, a swaying golden ornament; beneath the warm hibiscus curtains they passed the spring night.
The spring night seemed so short; the sun stood high when they rose, and from then on the king missed morning court.
She served at feasts and pleasures without a moment free; through spring she followed him abroad, and night after night was hers alone.
Three thousand beauties lived in the inner palace; the love for all three thousand gathered upon her.
Adorned within her golden chamber, she waited tenderly by night; after a feast in the jade tower, she was drunk with spring.
Her sisters and brothers were granted estates; what glorious splendor fell upon her family!
So parents everywhere came to prize the birth of daughters over sons.
The palace on Mount Li rose into the blue clouds; heavenly music rode the wind and sounded everywhere.
Slow songs and graceful dances held the strings and flutes; all day the king could never see enough.
War drums from Yuyang thundered over the earth, shattering the Song of Rainbow Skirts and Feather Coats.
Dust and smoke rose about the ninefold palace gates; a thousand coaches and ten thousand horsemen fled southwest.
His kingfisher banners swayed, advanced and stopped, more than a hundred miles west of the capital gate.
The six armies refused to march; helpless, he watched those graceful brows perish before the horses.
Her jeweled flowers lay upon the earth, uncollected, with green hairpins, golden birds, and jade combs.
The king covered his face, powerless to save her; looking back, he wept tears mingled with blood.
Yellow dust spread wide; the wind blew bleakly; cloud-high plank roads twisted up to Sword Gate.
Few travelers passed beneath Mount Emei; banners lost their light and the sun shone faintly.
The rivers of Shu were blue, the mountains green; morning and evening the sovereign's longing endured.
In his traveling palace the moon was a heartbreaking sight; in night rain the bells broke his heart.
When heaven turned and the royal carriage returned, he paused here, unable to move on.
In the earth below Mawei Slope, no jade face remained; the place of death stood empty.
The king and his courtiers looked at one another, their robes wet; facing east toward the capital, they let the horses take them home.
Returned, he found the pools and gardens just as before: lotus in Taiye Pool, willows at Weiyang Palace.
The lotus was like her face, the willows like her brows; how could he look at them without tears?
When peach and plum blossoms opened in spring wind, when parasol leaves fell in autumn rain,
Autumn grass grew thick around the western palace and southern garden; red leaves covered the stairs, unswept.
The Pear Garden players had new white hair; the palace attendants had aged beyond their youth.
Fireflies crossed the evening hall, where he sat lost in thought; the lone lamp guttered out before he could sleep.
Slow bells and drums announced the long night's beginning; the bright Milky Way endured till daybreak.
Frost lay heavy on the cold paired roof tiles; with whom could he share the kingfisher quilt?
Year after year death kept them apart; her spirit had never once entered his dreams.
A Daoist from Linqiong, a guest of the great capital, could summon a soul through the force of devotion.
Moved by the king's ceaseless longing, they sent this adept to search diligently for her.
He mounted the air and sped like lightning, searched throughout the heights of heaven and the depths of earth.
Above to the blue firmament, below to the yellow springs: in those vast places she was nowhere found.
Then he heard of an immortal mountain on the sea, somewhere between emptiness and distant mist.
Delicate towers rose among five-colored clouds; many graceful immortals lived there.
Among them was one named Taizhen; her snowy skin and flowerlike face seemed to be hers.
He knocked at a jade door in the western wing of the golden palace, and sent Xiaoyu to tell Shuangcheng.
Hearing that the Han emperor's envoy had come, she startled awake behind her nine-flowered curtains.
She took up her clothes, pushed away her pillow, and rose to pace; pearl blinds and silver screens opened one after another.
Her cloudlike hair was askew from sleep; her flower crown unfastened as she descended into the hall.
Wind lifted her immortal sleeves, billowing like her dance of Rainbow Skirts and Feather Coats.
Tears ran down her lonely jade face, a spray of pear blossoms wet with spring rain.
Looking at him with feeling, she thanked the king: since parting, voice and face alike had vanished into distance.
Their love had ended in Zhaoyang Hall; in Penglai Palace the days and months stretched long.
Looking down toward the human world, she saw no Chang'an, only dust and haze.
She had only her old belongings to show her enduring love, and sent back her jeweled box and golden hairpin.
She kept one prong of the pin and one half of the box, splitting its gold and dividing its ornament.
“If our hearts remain as steadfast as this gold and these jewels, we shall meet again in heaven or on earth.”
At parting she gave him one more urgent message, an oath known only to their two hearts:
“On the seventh night of the seventh month, in the Palace of Long Life, we whispered together at midnight when no one was near.
In the sky, may we be birds flying wing to wing; on earth, branches of two trees grown as one.”
Heaven and earth may one day end; this grief goes on forever, without end.

Bai Juyi — Song of the Pipa, with Preface
In the tenth year of Yuanhe, I was demoted to marshal of Jiujiang Prefecture. The following autumn, while seeing a guest off at the mouth of the Pen River, I heard someone playing the pipa at night aboard a boat. Its ringing tones had the sound of the capital. Asked about herself, she said she had once been a singing girl in Chang'an and had studied the pipa with the two master musicians Mu and Cao; as she grew older and her beauty faded, she became the wife of a merchant. I had wine brought and asked her to play several pieces freely. When she finished she fell silent and melancholy, then spoke of the pleasures of her youth and of her present decline, drifting from place to place among rivers and lakes. For two years since my posting outside the capital I had lived calmly, at peace with myself; but her words moved me, and for the first time that night I felt what exile meant. So I made her this song in long lines, six hundred and sixteen characters in all, and called it “Song of the Pipa.”
At night beside the Xunyang River I saw a guest off; maple leaves and reed flowers shivered in autumn.
The host dismounted, the guest sat in the boat; we raised wine to drink, but had no strings or flutes.
We could find no joy in drunkenness, grieved at parting; as we parted the vast river held the moon.
Suddenly we heard pipa music over the water; the host forgot to go home, the guest forgot to leave.
Following the sound, we called softly to ask who played; the pipa stopped, and its player hesitated to speak.
We moved our boat close and invited her to meet us, brought more wine, trimmed the lamp and opened the feast anew.
Only after a thousand calls did she appear, still holding her pipa to hide half her face.
She turned the pegs and plucked two or three notes; before a tune began, feeling was there.
Each string held back its voice, each note held thought, as if telling of a life that had gone awry.
Her eyes lowered, her hands played on and on, telling everything that lay unspoken in her heart.
She gently swept and slowly rolled, brushed and plucked, first “Rainbow Skirts,” then “Green Waist.”
The thick strings rumbled like a sudden rain; the thin strings murmured like whispered confidences.
Deep notes and fine ones mingled together, like large and small pearls falling on a jade plate.
An oriole's liquid song among flowers; a choked spring struggling beneath ice.
The icy spring turned cold and rough, the strings fell silent; blocked, their sound paused for a moment.
Another, hidden sorrow arose there, a secret grief: now silence was stronger than sound.
Then a silver flask broke and water burst out; iron cavalry charged with clashing spears and swords.
At the end she swept her pick across the strings: all four rang once, like silk rent in two.
The boats east and west were silent, without a word; only the autumn moon shone white at the river's heart.
In thought she put the pick between the strings, straightened her clothing, rose and composed her face.
She said she was once a girl of the capital, and lived below Toad Hill.
At thirteen she mastered the pipa, and her name was entered in the music school's foremost troupe.
When she finished playing, even the masters yielded; when she dressed, even the famous beauties grew jealous.
Young men of the Five Mausoleums competed to give her gifts; for one song, red silk streamed beyond counting.
Jeweled combs broke as she beat time; spilled wine stained her blood-red silk skirt.
One year of laughter followed another; autumn moons and spring winds passed without a thought.
Her younger brother went off to war, her patroness died; evening and morning passed, and her beauty aged.
The doorway grew desolate, with few saddles or horses; older now, she married a merchant.
A merchant prizes profit and makes light of farewell; last month he went to Fuliang to buy tea.
Since his departure she has guarded the empty boat at the river mouth; moonlight circles the boat, and the water is cold.
Deep at night she dreams suddenly of her youth; waking in tears, she finds red streaks running through her makeup.
I sighed when I heard the pipa, and now her words draw deeper sighs from me.
Both of us have fallen to the ends of the earth; why must we have known each other before meeting?
Last year I left the imperial capital, sent into exile, sick in the city of Xunyang.
Xunyang lies remote from music; the whole year I hear no sound of strings or flutes.
I live by the Pen River in the low damp ground; yellow reeds and bitter bamboo ring my home.
What do I hear there from dawn to dusk? The cuckoo's bloody cry, the gibbons' mournful calls.
On a flowering spring morning or beneath an autumn moon, I often bring wine and pour alone.
There are mountain songs and village pipes, but their harsh and jarring sounds are hard to bear.
Tonight your pipa spoke to me: as though I heard heavenly music, my ears suddenly cleared.
Do not refuse to sit and play one more piece; for you I will turn it into a Song of the Pipa.
Moved by my words, she stood a long while; then sat again, tightened the strings, and played more urgently.
Its desolation was unlike her earlier music; hearing it, everyone covered their eyes and wept.
Who among us shed the most tears? The marshal of Jiangzhou, whose blue robe was soaked.

Cen Shen — Song of Galloping Horse River, Sending Commander Feng on His Western Campaign
Have you not seen Galloping Horse River by the Sea of Snow, its level sands stretching yellow into the sky?
In September the wind roars by night at Luntai; stones as large as bushel baskets cover the valley, and the wind sends them rolling wildly over the ground.
The steppe grass is yellow, the Xiongnu horses fat; west of Gold Mountain we see dust and smoke rise.
A great general of Han marches west; the commander does not remove his golden armor even at night.
At midnight the army marches, spears striking one another; the wind's edge cuts faces like a knife.
Snow clings to the horses' coats, steaming with sweat; their dappled markings turn at once to ice.
Inside the tent, as orders are written, the ink freezes in the stone; the enemy horsemen must tremble when they hear of it.
Surely they will not dare close in hand-to-hand battle; at Jushi's western gate we wait for news of victory.

Cen Shen — Song of Luntai, Sending Commander Feng on His Western Campaign
At night the horns sound from Luntai's walls; north of the city the baleful star falls.
Last night a feathered dispatch passed Quli: the chanyu is already west of Gold Mountain.
Westward from the watchtower the dust is black; the Han army camps north of Luntai.
The commander bears his yak-tail standard on the westward campaign; at dawn the flutes sound and the great army marches.
Drums beat on every side till the Sea of Snow heaves; the three armies cry out and the Yin Mountains shake.
The enemy's forts mass a warlike cloud; on the battlefield white bones twine with grass roots.
At Sword River the wind is fierce and the snowflakes broad; at the sandy pass frozen stones strip the horses' hooves.
The vice minister serves his sovereign, glad to bear such hardship, and swears to end the dust of war on the border.
Who has not seen the ancient histories? Yet his deeds today surpass the men of old.

Cen Shen — Song of White Snow, Sending Magistrate Wu Home to the Capital
The north wind rolls over the earth, breaking the white grass; in the northern lands snow falls in the eighth month.
As if a spring wind had come overnight, a thousand trees, ten thousand trees, burst into pear blossom.
It drifts through beaded curtains and wets the silk hangings; fox fur brings no warmth, brocade quilts are thin.
The general cannot draw his horn bow; the commander's iron armor is too cold to wear.
Across the desert ice spreads a hundred feet thick; clouds of grief congeal for ten thousand miles.
At headquarters we set out wine for the homeward guest, with steppe fiddle, pipa, and Qiang flute.
Evening snow falls thick at the camp gate; the wind pulls the red banner, but it is frozen stiff.
At Luntai's eastern gate I see you off; as you go, snow fills the road through the Tianshan Mountains.
The mountains turn, the road bends, and you are lost from sight; on the snow only your horse's tracks remain.

Li Bai — Song of Mount Lu, Sent to Censor Lu Xuzhou
I am the madman of Chu, singing my phoenix song to laugh at Confucius.
With a green jade staff in my hand, I left Yellow Crane Tower this morning.
Seeking immortals among the Five Peaks, no distance is too far; all my life I have loved to roam famous mountains.
Mount Lu rises beautifully near the Southern Dipper; its ninefold screen unfolds like cloud brocade, its shadow falls on the bright lake, gleaming deep blue.
Two long peaks open before the Golden Gate; the Milky Way hangs upside down from the three stone bridges.
Incense Burner Peak and its waterfall face each other far apart; sheer cliffs and folded ridges climb into the azure.
Green shadows and red mists shine in the morning sun; no bird can reach that vast Wu sky.
High above, a grand sight stretches between heaven and earth: the great river flows endlessly away.
Yellow clouds across ten thousand miles turn with the wind; white waves of nine channels roll like snowy mountains.
Gladly I sing my song of Mount Lu, for Mount Lu has stirred my heart.
At leisure I gaze in the stone mirror and cleanse my mind; blue moss covers the path where Lord Xie once walked.
Soon I will take the elixir and let go of worldly feeling; with three turns of my zither-heart the Way first comes to fruition.
Far away I see immortals in colored clouds, holding lotus flowers on their way to the Jade Capital.
I have arranged to meet Hanman beyond the nine heavens; may I join Lu Ao and roam in the pure ether.

Li Bai — A Song of Traveling to Mount Tianmu in a Dream, Left at Parting
Sailors speak of Yingzhou, elusive amid smoky waves and hard indeed to find.
People of Yue speak of Mount Tianmu, glimpsed now and then through vanishing clouds.
Tianmu reaches across the sky and blocks heaven, rising above the Five Peaks, overshadowing Red City.
Tiantai stands forty-eight thousand feet high, yet beside it seems ready to bow southeast.
Longing for it, I dreamed of Wu and Yue, and flew in a night across Mirror Lake beneath the moon.
The lake moon lit my shadow, escorting me to Shan Creek.
The place where Lord Xie stayed still remains; clear waters ripple, and gibbons cry.
I put on Lord Xie's wooden clogs and climbed the ladder of blue clouds.
Halfway up the cliffs I saw the sun over the sea; in the air I heard the celestial cock.
Through a thousand crags and ten thousand turns the path wandered; lost among flowers, I leaned on a rock, and suddenly dusk had come.
Bears roared and dragons sang, echoing from rocky springs, shaking the deep woods and startling the layered peaks.
Clouds darkened, about to rain; waters trembled and gave off mist.
Lightning split and thunder crashed; hills and ridges broke apart.
The stone gates of the cavern of heaven burst open with a roar.
Azure darkness spread beyond all depth; sun and moon illuminated towers of gold and silver.
Rainbows were their garments, wind their horses; lords of the clouds came down in throngs.
Tigers played the zithers, phoenixes drew the carriages; immortals stood in ranks as thick as flax.
Suddenly my soul trembled, my spirit shook; I started awake with a long sigh.
There was only the pillow and bedding of my waking hour: all those clouds and mists were gone.
The pleasures of the world are like this too; since ancient times all things flow east like water.
I leave you now—when shall I return? Let my white deer roam among green cliffs; whenever I must go, I will ride it to famous mountains.
How could I lower my brows and bend my back to serve the powerful, and keep my heart from opening in joy?

Li Bai — Parting at a Wine Shop in Jinling
Wind scatters willow flowers and fills the shop with fragrance; a girl of Wu draws wine and invites the guests to taste.
Young men of Jinling have come to see me off; as I linger on the point of leaving, we each drain a cup.
Ask the eastward-flowing water, if you will: which is longer, the river or the feeling of farewell?

Li Bai — Farewell to My Uncle Yun, Text Collator, at Xie Tiao's Tower in Xuanzhou
The days that abandon me, yesterday's days, cannot be kept.
The days that trouble my heart, today's days, are full of care.
A great wind sends autumn geese ten thousand miles; before this sight we can drink deep in the high tower.
Your writings have Penglai's splendor and the vigor of Jian'an; and within them, young Xie's lucid brilliance.
Together we cherish free and soaring thoughts; we would climb the blue heavens and take the bright moon.
Draw a blade to cut the water: it flows still more; raise a cup to drown sorrow: sorrow grows still deeper.
When life in this world denies our wishes, tomorrow I will let down my hair and drift in a little boat.

Li Shangyin — Han Yu's Inscription
The Yuanhe emperor was divine and martial: what men were Xuan and Xi beside him?
He swore to wash away the shame of former rulers and sat in his palace receiving the homage of the four quarters.
In Huai West rebels had thrived for fifty years: the wolf gave birth to the tiger, and the tiger to the bear.
They held not mountains and rivers but level ground; their long spears could be wielded in broad daylight.
The emperor found a sage minister named Du; the rebels hacked him but could not kill him, for spirits sheltered him.
The chancellor's seal at his waist, he took supreme command; under dark and bitter winds flew the royal banners.
Su, Wu, Gu and Tong became his claws and teeth; an official of the rites took up his brush and followed.
The army's marshal was wise and brave; his hundred and forty thousand men were fierce as tigers and wildcats.
They entered Cai, bound the rebel and presented him at the ancestral shrine: no one could dispute such merit, or measure the favor owed.
The emperor said, “Du, yours is the greatest deed; your aide Yu should compose its record.”
Yu bowed low and danced for joy: “I can carve the words in stone and metal.
Since ancient times men have praised great pens; that skill has never depended on an official post.
When duty calls, the worthy do not yield.” At this the emperor nodded again and again.
Returning home, he purified himself and sat in his small chamber; what abundance flowed from the great brush he dipped!
He corrected characters in the Canons of Yao and Shun, altered the poems “Clear Temple” and “Birth of the People.”
His text was complete, written in a bold hand on paper; at dawn he bowed twice and laid it on the vermilion steps.
His memorial said, “Your servant Yu risks death to offer these verses, recording the sacred ruler's achievement on a stele.”
The stele rose thirty feet, its letters huge as bushel baskets; a spirit turtle bore it, carved dragons curled around it.
Its phrases were strange and weighty, and few could understand; slanderers told the emperor that Yu served his own interests.
A rope a hundred feet long pulled the stele down; coarse sand and great stones ground away its face.
Yet his writing, like the primal breath of life, had already entered the hearts and minds of men.
Works were inscribed on Tang's basin and Confucius's tripod; their vessels are gone, their words remain.
Alas, a sacred emperor and a sage minister joined to shed their brilliant radiance and spread an age of peace.
If the master's writing is not shown to later generations, how shall their achievement rival the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors?
I wish to write it ten thousand times and recite it ten thousand times, till my lips foam and my right hand grows callused,
To pass it down through seventy-three generations, a jade record for the sacrifice on the mountain, a foundation for the Hall of Light.

Li Qi — An Old Theme
A young man serves on a long campaign; from boyhood he has lived on the Yan frontier.
He bets on victory beneath the horses' hooves, caring little for his seven-foot life.
He kills men and none dares face him; his bristling beard spreads like a hedgehog's quills.
Yellow clouds roll at the foot of the ridge, white snow flies; until he has repaid his lord's favor he cannot return.
A young wife in Liaodong, only fifteen, is skilled with the pipa and knows songs and dances.
Now she plays the Qiang flute's melody of leaving the frontier and makes all three armies weep like rain.

Li Qi — Seeing Chen Zhangfu Off
In the fourth month south winds ripen the barley; jujube flowers still cling, and paulownia shade grows long.
Green hills seen at dawn appear again at dusk; the horse neighs at the gate, longing for home.
How open and generous is Lord Chen! Dragon whiskers, tiger brows, a broad forehead too.
He holds ten thousand books within him; he refuses to bow his head among weeds.
At the eastern gate he buys wine for us; he makes light of all the world's affairs, as light as swan feathers.
Drunk, he lies down unmindful of the sinking sun; at times he gazes vainly toward a high lone cloud.
The great river's black waves touch the sky; boats are halted at the ferry and cannot cross.
The traveler bound for Zheng has yet to reach home; the man of Luoyang can only sigh.
I hear many old friends are in your native woods: you lost your post yesterday; what awaits you now?

Li Qi — Song of the Zither
Our host has wine to make us glad tonight; let the visitor from Guangling play the singing zither.
Moonlight falls on the city wall and crows half take flight; frost chills ten thousand trees, and wind enters my clothes.
Candles by the bronze brazier glow more brightly; first he plays “Clear Water,” then “The Lady of Chu.”
One note stirs us all to stillness; no one speaks among the guests as stars begin to fade.
I must go on a mission a thousand miles toward the clear Huai; may I tell you that my journey through clouded hills begins here?

Li Qi — Hearing Dong the Elder Play the Nomad Reed Flute, with Words for Chamberlain Fang
Long ago Cai's daughter created the sound of the nomad flute: each performance had eighteen movements.
Nomads wept till their tears wet the border grass; Han envoys broke their hearts facing those who journeyed home.
Ancient garrisons lay dim, their beacons cold; across the great waste white snow flew in the gloom.
He first brushed the shang string, then the jue and yu; autumn leaves startled and rustled in all four directions.
Master Dong, your art speaks to the spirits; even mountain demons steal near to listen.
Slow phrases and quick alike answer your hand; departing and circling back, each is full of feeling.
On empty mountains a hundred birds scatter and gather again; clouds ten thousand miles away darken and brighten.
A young goose cries harshly in the night, lost from its flock; a nomad child, parted from its mother, cries till the sound breaks.
The river stills its waves for him; even the birds stop singing.
Home is distant for the Wusun tribes; amid Lhasa's dust their sorrow is born.
A dark note changes pitch and suddenly pours forth, like a great wind through woods, like rain dropping on tiles.
A spring bursts and sprays through the treetops; wild deer cry and run beneath the hall.
Chang'an's city walls adjoin the eastern palace enclosure; Phoenix Pool faces the green-latticed gate.
You, a man of great talent, are free of concern for rank or wealth; day and night I hope to see you come bearing your zither.

Li Qi — Song on Hearing An Wanshan Play the Bili
Bamboo cut from the southern mountains becomes the bili; this music came originally from Kucha.
Passed into the Han lands, its melodies grew stranger; now a man of Liangzhou plays it for me.
Neighbors who hear him sigh again and again; travelers far from home weep for their native land.
People know how to hear it but not how to cherish it; it roams on its own through the gale.
Withered mulberries and old cypresses whistle in the cold; nine young phoenixes chirp in a clamor.
Dragons sing and tigers roar together; ten thousand sounds and a hundred springs share the autumn air.
Suddenly he plays the “Yuyang Drumming”; yellow clouds grow bleak, the white sun darkens.
The melody changes: now it is as though spring comes to willows, fresh blossoms at Shanglin filling our eyes.
At year's end, in the high hall, bright candles are set in rows; with each cup of fine wine comes another tune.

Du Fu — Viewing General Cao's Painting of Horses at Recorder Wei Feng's House
Since the dynasty's beginnings, of painters of saddled horses only the Prince of Jiangdu was called divine.
The general has been renowned for thirty years; in this world we see a true marvelous steed again.
Once he painted the former emperor's Night-Shining White; for ten days thunder seemed to fly around the Dragon Pool.
From the imperial treasury came a dark red agate bowl; a palace consort passed the order, and attendants fetched it.
The general bowed, danced, and went home with the bowl; fine silks and sheer brocades flew after him.
Nobles and powerful families gained his paintings, and saw their screens and partitions begin to shine.
Taizong once had his Curly-Maned Dun; more recently the Guo family had Lion Flower.
These two horses appear in the new painting and make connoisseurs sigh for a long time.
Each carried riders into battle and could face ten thousand foes; over the blank silk wind and sand spread far.
The other seven are exceptional too, like smoke and snow moving through the cold high air.
Frost-white hooves stamp among tall catalpas; grooms and stablemen stand arrayed in ranks.
How splendid, the nine horses competing in their divine vigor, gazing about in lofty poise and deep calm.
Who cherished the horses with such devotion? Wei Feng now, and before him Zhi Dun.
I remember when the emperor visited Xinfeng Palace: his green plumes brushed the sky as he traveled east.
Thirty thousand splendid horses leaped and pranced, their sinews and bones like those in this picture.
Since that treasure was offered to the river god, he has no longer shot water dragons upon the river.
Do you not see the pines and cypresses before Golden Millet Mound? The dragon steeds have all gone; birds cry into the wind.

Du Fu — A Song of Painting for General Cao Ba
General, you descend from Cao Cao, the martial ruler of Wei;
Today, reduced to common rank, you live like a farmer at Qingmen.
The hero's struggle for dominion has ended,
But his brilliance and grace live on in you.
When you first studied calligraphy you followed Lady Wei,
But regretted that you could not surpass Wang Xizhi.
In painting you did not notice old age approaching;
To you, wealth and honor were drifting clouds.
In the Kaiyuan years you were often summoned to court,
And favored with repeated visits to the South Wind Hall.
The heroes' portraits at Lingyan had lost their colors;
Under your brush their faces came to life again.
Wise ministers wore the caps of noble counsel,
Fierce generals carried great feathered arrows at their waists.
The Dukes of Bao and E seemed to move their very hair,
Their brave faces looked ready for battle still.
The former emperor's heavenly horse was Jade Flower,
But painters in crowds had all portrayed it differently.
That day it was led beneath the crimson steps;
Standing by the palace gates, it seemed to raise a great wind.
By imperial decree you spread your white silk,
And worked with sober care on its inner design.
In an instant a true dragon came forth from the ninefold palace,
Scouring away the common horses of all ages.
Jade Flower now stood upon the emperor's couch;
Horse on couch and horse in courtyard faced one another erect.
The sovereign smiled as he ordered gold bestowed on you;
Grooms and stablemasters alike stood wistful.
Your pupil Han Gan had early mastered your methods;
He too could paint a horse in all its varied shapes.
But Han Gan painted only flesh and not the bones,
Allowing the spirit of a magnificent steed to fade.
There is something divine in your gift for painting;
Whenever you met a fine man, you drew his likeness too.
Now, wandering amid the wars,
You repeatedly portray ordinary passersby.
At the end of the road, the crowd looks down upon you;
No man in the world is poor as you.
Yet see how those of great renown since ancient times
Have suffered the frustrations that beset them all their days.

Du Fu — Sent to Remonstrance Official Han Zhu
I am unhappy now and think of Yueyang; I long to take flight, but illness keeps me in bed.
The lovely one lives beyond autumn waters, washing his feet in Dongting and gazing to the world's farthest reaches.
Wild geese fly through darkness under clear sun and moon; green maple leaves turn red, and the sky rains frost.
The lords of the Jade Capital gather by the Northern Dipper; some ride unicorns, screened by phoenixes.
Lotus banners descend through mist; their shadows move, and reflected light shakes the Xiao and Xiang rivers.
The lord of the starry palace is drunk on jade nectar; feathered immortals are few, and not beside him.
I hear the one who was here yesterday was Red Pine himself—or perhaps Han's Zhang Liang.
Once he helped the Liu clan secure Chang'an; his strategic genius is unchanged, but his heart grieves.
How could I presume to judge a nation's rise and fall? He cannot stomach its corruption and feeds on maple fragrance.
The ancient sages lamented being detained south of Zhou; the Old Man of the Southern Star ought to enjoy long life.
Why does the lovely one stay across the autumn waters? How can we bring him to serve in the Jade Hall?

Du Fu — Song of the Ancient Cypress
Before Zhuge Liang's temple stands an ancient cypress, its boughs like green bronze, its roots like stone.
Rain streams down its frosty bark, forty arm spans round; its deep-blue foliage reaches two thousand feet into the sky.
Clouds come and its breath joins distant Wu Gorge; when the moon rises its cold extends to the white Snow Mountains.
The minister and his sovereign met the moment of their age; the tree is still cherished for their sake.
I remember my recent walk east of Brocade Pavilion, where the First Lord and his minister share a sacred shrine.
Great branches rise above the ancient plain; painted forms gleam softly from the empty doors and windows.
Although it stands rooted in good ground, solitary at that height it meets fierce winds.
The gods themselves support it; its uprightness is the work of creation.
Should a great hall begin to fall and need a beam, ten thousand oxen would turn back at its mountain weight.
Even without displaying its patterns, it astonishes the world; if it were cut down, who could carry it away?
Its bitter heart cannot keep out ants; fragrant leaves have long sheltered phoenixes.
Let devoted men and hidden scholars not complain: great timber has always been hard to use.

Du Fu — Song of the Sword Dance by a Pupil of Lady Gongsun, with Preface
Long ago there was a beauty, Lady Gongsun; a single sword dance stirred the four quarters.
Spectators stood in mountains, their faces altered; heaven and earth rose and fell with her for hours.
She blazed like Yi shooting down the nine suns, soared like the heavenly lords riding dragons.
She struck like thunder releasing its anger, and ended like rivers and seas holding their blue light still.
Her red lips and jeweled sleeves have fallen silent; in later years a pupil inherited her fragrant art.
The beauty of Linying, here in Baidi, dances it wondrously with soaring spirit.
As I questioned her and heard her answers, memory of the times and their events deepened my grief.
The former emperor had eight thousand serving women; in the sword dance, Lady Gongsun stood first.
Fifty years have turned like the palm of a hand; war's swirling dust has darkened the royal house.
The Pear Garden performers have scattered like smoke; a trace of their dancers' grace shines in the cold sun.
South of Golden Millet Mound the trees have grown thick; by Qutang's stone walls the grass blows bleakly.
The quick pipes at the tortoiseshell feast play their last notes; when joy has gone, sorrow comes, and the moon rises east.
I am an old man and do not know where to go; my feet blister on barren mountains, my distress and illness deepen.

Meng Haoran — Song of Returning to Deer Gate at Night
The temple bell sounds in the hills, and day has grown dark; at Fish Weir Ferry, people clamor to cross.
They follow the sandy bank toward riverside villages; I too take a boat back to Deer Gate.
The Deer Gate moon shines and opens the misty trees; suddenly I come to Lord Pang's secluded dwelling.
Its rocky gate and pine path are quiet forever; only a man of solitude comes and goes there alone.

Liu Zongyuan — The Fisherman
At night an old fisherman sleeps beside the western cliff; at dawn he draws clear Xiang water and burns Chu bamboo.
The mist disperses, the sun rises, but the man has vanished; one creak of his oar, and hills and waters turn green.
I look back as his boat runs down the midstream toward the horizon; above the cliffs idle clouds pursue one another.

Chen Zi'ang — Song of Climbing Youzhou Terrace
Before me I see no men of old; behind me no men yet to come.
I think of heaven and earth stretching forever, and alone, heartbroken, my tears fall.

Han Yu — Mountain Rocks
Mountain stones jut roughly; the path is faint. At dusk I reach the temple, where bats are flying. I enter the hall and sit on its steps, the recent rain abundant; banana leaves spread wide, gardenias are plump. A monk tells me the Buddha painting on the old wall is fine, and brings a flame to show me its rare details. He spreads a bed and shakes out a mat and serves soup and rice; coarse and meager though they are, they satisfy my hunger. Deep in the night I lie still; insects have gone silent, and a clear moon climbs the ridge and lights the door. At dawn I set out alone with no path to follow, climbing and descending till I have crossed the furthest mists. The hills glow red, the brooks green in bewildering profusion; sometimes I see pines and oaks ten arm spans round. I wade the current barefoot, treading stones in the brook; the water rushes and the wind blows my clothes. Such a life is joy enough: why submit to the bridle of another's control? Ah, you few friends of mine, how can we return here and stay until we grow old?

Han Yu — To Zhang, Judicial Officer, on the Night of the Fifteenth of the Eighth Month
Thin clouds roll away on every side; the sky is free of haze, and a clear breeze sends ripples across the moon. The sands are level, the water still, sound and shadow gone; I offer you a cup, and ask you to sing. Your voice is pained, your words bitter; before you finish, tears fall like rain. Dongting stretches to heaven, the Nine Doubts rise high; river dragons surface and dive, gibbons and flying squirrels wail. After escaping death nine times in ten, we reached our official posts and lived hidden and silent, like fugitives. We feared snakes when we rose from bed and poison in our food; sea mists damply steamed the foul air. Yesterday they beat the great drums before the prefectural office: the new emperor had succeeded the sage, summoning worthies like Kui and Gao. The pardon traveled ten thousand miles in a day, sparing even those sentenced to death. The demoted were recalled, the exiled returned, their stains washed away to join the pure court ranks. But the prefectural officials forwarded our names and the envoys held them back; by ill luck we gained only a transfer to the wildlands of Jing. Our lowly judicial posts are hardly worth mentioning; we still cannot escape beatings amid the dust. Many of our companions have already set out for home, but the road to heaven is dark and steep, beyond our climb. Stop your song and listen to mine: tonight my song will sound quite different from yours. No night this year has a brighter moon; life rests with fate, not with anyone else. What good is this bright moon if we leave our wine undrunk?

Han Yu — Visiting the Temple of Mount Heng, Spending the Night at the Mountain Monastery, and Writing on Its Gate Tower
In rank, the sacrifices to all Five Peaks are those due the three highest ministers; they stand guard around the four quarters, with Mount Song in the center. The southern fire lands are wild and thick with spirits; heaven has given the mountain god authority to rule them alone. He breathes out cloud and mist that conceal half the mountain; who can reach its summit, even if it stands there? I arrived in the season of autumn rain; all was murky shadow, without a clear wind. Silently I prayed in my heart and seemed to win an answer: was it my uprightness that moved the spirit? In a moment the sky swept clear and the peaks appeared; looking up, I saw them rise abruptly into blue space. Purple Canopy stretches toward Heavenly Pillar; Stone Granary leaps up by the piled mass of Zhurong. Awestruck and shaking, I dismounted and bowed, then followed a path through pines and cypresses to the sacred shrine. White walls and red columns shone; paintings of spirits filled it with greens and reds. Stooping as I climbed the steps, I offered dried meat and wine, hoping these slight gifts would show what lay in my heart. The old temple keeper understood the god's intentions; eyes wide, he watched attentively and bent low. He put divining blocks in my hands and guided my cast, saying the result was the most auspicious, beyond any other. Banished to wild southern lands, I count myself lucky to be alive; food and clothes are just enough, and I would gladly spend my life there. I have long ceased hoping to become a lord, a king, a minister, a general; even if the god wished to bless me, what could he do? At night I took shelter at a Buddhist temple and climbed a high tower; stars and moon shone fitfully through cloudy gloom. Gibbons called and bells sounded; before I knew it, dawn came, and a brilliant cold sun rose in the east.

Han Yu — Song of the Stone Drums
Young Zhang held in his hands a copy of the stone-drum inscriptions and urged me to make a song of them. Shaoling has no successor, the Banished Immortal is dead; with such slight talent, what can I do for the stone drums? The Zhou order declined, and all four seas seethed; King Xuan rose in anger and wielded his heavenly spear. He opened wide the Hall of Light and received the homage of the court; the lords' swords and pendants rang against one another. He held a grand hunt at Qiyang, ranging his mighty warriors; beasts from ten thousand miles were caught in the net. To proclaim his achievement for ten thousand generations, they hewed stone into drums, splitting the rugged cliffs. His attendant ministers were all masters of their arts; they were selected to compose and carve the words upon the mountainside. Rain drenched them, sun burned them, wild fires scorched them; spirits labored to stand guard over them. Where did you find a paper copy so exact, with every hair's breadth intact? Its language is solemn, its meaning close-woven and hard to fathom; the script resembles neither clerical hand nor tadpole characters. After so many years, how could some strokes not be missing? Their shapes are like a sharp sword cutting living dragons and turtles apart. Phoenixes and fabulous birds take wing as immortals descend; coral and emerald trees entwine their branches. Golden cords and iron chains form strong knots; an ancient cauldron leaps into water and a dragon darts like a shuttle. Pedants compiling the Book of Songs did not include them; the two Ya sections were too narrow to make them room. Confucius never traveled west into Qin: he picked out the stars but left the sun and moon behind. Alas, I love antiquity but was born too late; facing these words, tears stream down both my cheeks. I remember when I was first summoned as a scholar; it was the year the era name changed to Yuanhe. An old friend was in military service west of the capital; I had him calculate what it would take to dig out their hollows. I washed my cap, bathed, and appealed to the director of studies: how many such treasures remain in the world? Wrapped in felt and mats, they could come here at once: ten drums would need only a few camels. Offer them in the ancestral temple beside the ancient Ding of Gao, and their glory would surpass it a hundredfold. If imperial grace allowed them to rest in the academy, the students could discuss them and learn. Crowds still gather to see the stone classics at Hongdu; before our eyes the whole realm would hasten here. Scrape off the moss and peel away the lichen to show their ridges and edges; set them securely, straight and level. Build a great hall with deep eaves to shelter them, and hope they may endure the long years unharmed. But high officials at court, grown old at their work, will they be moved? They only hedge and yield. Herd boys strike fire from the stones, oxen rub their horns there: who will raise a hand to caress them now? Day by day and month by month they wear away and sink into oblivion; for six years I have turned westward and sung in vain. Wang Xizhi's vulgar script relies on pretty forms, yet a few sheets of his writing could win white geese. Eight dynasties of war have passed since Zhou: no one gathered the drums and set them right—what can we do? These days peace prevails; with no affairs to trouble it, the court entrusts authority to learning and honors Confucius and Mencius. How can I lay this case before it? If only I could borrow the eloquence of a rushing river! Here my song of the stone drums ends; alas, I fear my hope will come to nothing.

### Ballads in the Music Bureau Style

Wang Zhihuan — Beyond the Frontier
The Yellow River winds away into white clouds;
A single lonely fortress stands amid mountains ten thousand feet high.
Why should the Qiang flute lament the willows?
The spring wind does not pass the Jade Pass.

Wang Changling — Beyond the Frontier
The moon of Qin shines on the passes of Han; the men who went ten thousand miles to war have not returned.
If the Flying General of Dragon City were still here, no nomad horses would cross the Yin Mountains.

Wang Changling — Song beneath the Frontier, First Poem
Cicadas sing in the empty mulberry grove; it is August on the road to Xiao Pass.
Outside the frontier and inside it, cold prevails; yellow reeds grow everywhere.
Since ancient times, men of You and Bing have grown old amid dust and sand.
Do not imitate wandering swordsmen, boasting of the beauty of their chestnut horses.

Wang Changling — Song beneath the Frontier, Second Poem
We water our horses and cross the autumn stream; the water is cold, the wind cuts like a knife.
The sun has not yet set on the level sand; dimly we make out Lintao.
All speak of the high courage in the ancient battle at the Great Wall.
Yellow dust covers past and present; white bones lie tangled in the wild grass.

Wang Changling — Lament at Changxin Palace
I hold a broom as the golden palace opens at dawn;
For a while I wander with my round silk fan.
My jade-white face cannot rival a cold crow's color:
The crow can still come bearing sunlight from Zhaoyang Palace.

Wang Wei — Song of Weicheng
Morning rain at Weicheng dampens the light dust; beside the inn the willows shine fresh green.
I urge you to empty one more cup of wine; west of Yang Pass there will be no old friends.

Wang Wei — Song of an Autumn Night
The moon's bright spirit has just risen; autumn dew is faint, and my sheer silk has grown thin, but I do not change my clothes.
Long into the night I play the silver zither intently; afraid of the empty room, I cannot bear to return.

Wang Wei — Song of a Girl of Luoyang
The girl of Luoyang lives across the street, lovely and just over fifteen.
Her husband rides a dapple-gray horse with a jade bridle; her maid serves sliced carp on a golden dish.
Their painted pavilions and crimson towers face one another; red peaches and green willows lean toward their eaves.
Silk curtains escort her into a fragrant carriage; jeweled fans welcome her home beneath flowered canopies.
Her reckless husband grew rich while young, arrogant and extravagant beyond Shi Jilun.
He dotes on his young beauty and teaches her to dance, and gives away coral without regret.
In her spring window the nine-branched lamp dies at dawn; its scattered embers fly like flecks of blossom.
After games she has no time to arrange a melody; when adorned, she simply sits in fragrant incense.
All her friends in the city are wealthy; day and night she visits the houses of Zhao and Li.
Who cares for the jade-beautiful girl of Yue, washing silk by the river in poverty?

Wang Wei — Song of the Old General
When he was only fifteen or twenty, he seized a nomad horse while fighting on foot.
He shot dead a white-browed tiger in the mountains; who would count the yellow-bearded prince of Ye beside him?
Alone he fought for three thousand miles; with a single sword he faced a million troops.
The Han army charged like thunder; enemy horsemen broke and fled in terror of its caltrops.
Wei Qing was never defeated by heaven's favor; Li Guang won no honors because his luck was strange.
Once cast aside, he weakened and aged; wasted years turned his hair white.
Once his arrows struck without missing an eye; now a willow sprouts from his left elbow.
Sometimes he sells the former marquis's melons by the roadside, plants willows by his gate like the old master.
Ancient trees spread darkness over his narrow lane; cold mountains stand forlorn beyond the empty window.
He vows to draw water in Shule's desert, not simply drown his sorrows in wine like the man of Yingchuan.
Below Mount Helan the enemy ranks mass like clouds; urgent feathered letters race in morning and evening.
Envoys summon young recruits from the Three Rivers; edicts send commanders down five roads.
He brushes the dust from his armor till it shines like snow; taking up his precious sword, he stirs its starry patterns.
He would draw a bow of Yan against the enemy's heavenly general, ashamed to let Yue armor clash against Wu.
Do not scorn the former governor of Yunzhong: he can still win glory in one more battle.

Wang Wei — Song of Peach Blossom Spring
A fisherman's boat followed the water, enchanted by spring among the mountains; peach flowers lined the channel on either bank.
He gazed at red trees and forgot how far he had gone; following the green stream to its end, he saw no one.
He slipped through a narrow mountain opening, turning into a hidden bend; the mountain opened, and a level plain suddenly spread before him.
From afar he saw trees massed like clouds; nearby, a thousand homes were scattered among blossoms and bamboo.
The woodcutter first spoke of the Han dynasty's names; the villagers still wore the dress of Qin.
They lived together at Wuling's spring, having made a farm beyond the world.
Beneath the moonlit pines their windows were quiet; at sunrise among clouds, cocks and dogs clamored.
Startled to hear of a visitor from the world, they crowded around, led him into their homes and asked about the cities.
At dawn the lanes were swept clean as flowers opened; at dusk fishermen and woodcutters came in by water.
At first they had fled the world to escape its troubles; becoming immortals, they never returned.
Who could know there were human lives within the gorge? Those in the world saw only mountains in clouds far away.
He did not imagine the enchanted place would be hard to find again; still longing for home, he could not stay.
Coming out of the cave, he cared little for the mountains and waters between; he took his leave, planning to wander back.
He thought he knew the old way and could not lose it; how could he know the peaks and valleys had changed?
He remembered only how far into the hills he had gone, and how many bends in the green stream led to those cloudy woods.
When spring comes, peach blossoms cover the water everywhere; how can anyone find the immortal spring again?

Li Bai — Song of Pure Peace, First Poem
Her dress makes me think of clouds, her face of flowers; spring wind brushes the railing and dew shines thickly.
If she is not seen atop Mount Jade, she must be met beneath the moon on the jasper terrace.

Li Bai — Song of Pure Peace, Second Poem
One red blossom glows, its fragrance heavy with dew; the clouds and rain of Mount Wu need not break our hearts.
Ask which beauty of the Han palace could resemble her: even Feiyan must lean on fresh adornment.

Li Bai — Song of Pure Peace, Third Poem
The famous flower and kingdom-captivating beauty rejoice together; the smiling king looks on without tiring.
Spring wind releases its boundless longing: north of the Aloeswood Pavilion they lean on the railing.

Li Bai — Bring in the Wine
Do you not see? The Yellow River's waters come down from heaven, rush to the sea, and never return!
Do you not see? In the high hall's mirror, they mourn white hair: black silk at dawn, snow at night!
When life gives us joy, let us have our fill; do not leave the golden cup empty beneath the moon.
Heaven gave me my gifts for some purpose; a thousand gold pieces spent will come again.
Cook the lamb and slaughter the ox; let us be merry and drink three hundred cups at a sitting.
Master Cen, my friend Danqiu, bring in the wine and do not let the cups rest.
I will sing you a song; lend me your ears and listen.
Bells and drums, fine dishes of jade are not worth prizing; I wish only to stay drunk and never wake.
The sages and worthies of old have all fallen silent; only the drinkers leave their names behind.
Once the Prince of Chen held a banquet at Pingle, spending ten thousand coins for a measure of wine in boundless revelry.
Why should our host say he has too little money? Go and buy the wine so we can drink together.
The dappled horse, the fur coat worth a thousand gold pieces—
Call the boy to take them and trade them for fine wine; with you I will drown ten thousand years of sorrow.

Li Bai — Lament of the Jade Steps
White dew forms upon the jade steps; long into the night it soaks my silk stockings.
I let down the crystal curtain, but still look through it at the lucid autumn moon.

Li Bai — Endless Longing, First Poem
Endless longing, in Chang'an: crickets cry in autumn by the golden well rail, faint frost chills the bamboo sleeping mat.
The lone lamp gives little light, my longing nearly breaks me; I roll up the curtain, gaze at the moon and sigh in vain: my flowerlike love is beyond the clouds.
Above, the blue-black heavens stretch without end; below, the clear waters roll in waves.
The sky is vast, the road long, the soul's flight painful; the dream soul cannot cross the hard mountain passes.
Endless longing breaks my heart.

Li Bai — Endless Longing, Second Poem
As daylight fades, flowers hold the mist; the moon shines white, and sorrow keeps me awake.
The Zhao zither has fallen silent by its phoenix bridges; I would play the Shu lute with its mandarin-duck strings.
There is feeling in this tune but no one to carry it; may the spring wind bear it to Mount Yanran, where I remember you beyond the far blue sky.
The eyes that once glimmered like waves have become a spring of tears.
If you doubt my heart is breaking, return and look at me before the mirror.

Li Bai — Hard Is the Road, First Poem
Clear wine in golden cups costs ten thousand coins a measure; delicacies on jade platters are worth ten thousand more.
I set down my cup, throw away my chopsticks, unable to eat; I draw my sword and look around with an empty heart.
I would cross the Yellow River, but ice blocks the stream; I would climb the Taihang Mountains, but snow covers their peaks.
At leisure I fish beside a green creek; suddenly I dream of sailing near the sun.
Hard is the road! Hard is the road! So many branching paths—where can I turn now?
One day I will ride the long wind and break the waves, hoist my cloudlike sail and cross the vast sea.

Li Bai — Hard Is the Road, Second Poem
The great road is broad as the blue sky, yet I alone cannot take it.
I would be ashamed to join the young rakes of Chang'an, who bet their pears and chestnuts on red cocks and white dogs.
I strike my sword and sing a bitter song; dragging my robe at a lord's gate does not suit my heart.
The market folk of Huaiyin laughed at Han Xin; the courtiers of Han envied young Jia Yi.
Do you not see how the ruler of Yan valued Guo Wei, bowing low and holding a broom, without suspicion?
Ju Xin and Yue Yi felt that kindness, offering their hearts and their talents in his service.
King Zhao's white bones are bound in rotting grass; who now will sweep the Golden Terrace?
Hard is the road: let me go home.

Li Bai — Hard Is the Road, Third Poem
Though you have ears, do not wash them in the Ying River; though you have a mouth, do not eat the ferns of Shouyang.
Keep your light hidden and mingle with the world, cherishing an unknown name; why live aloof to rival clouds and moon?
I see that worthy men since ancient times who did not retire when their work was done have lost their lives.
Wu Zixu was cast away on the Wu River; Qu Yuan finally plunged into the Xiang.
Could Lu Ji's mighty talent preserve him? Li Si delayed his departure too long.
How could one hear the cranes of Huating again? What use to speak of the hawks of Shangcai?
Do you not see Zhang Han of Wu, who knew how to live, and when autumn winds came suddenly thought of returning east?
Take joy for now in a cup of wine while you live; why seek a thousand years of fame after death?

Li Bai — Song of Changgan
When my hair had just begun to cover my forehead, I plucked flowers and played before the gate.
You came riding a bamboo horse, circling the bench with green plums in your hand.
We lived together in Changgan village, two children free of doubt or suspicion.
At fourteen I became your wife, too shy to show my face.
I bowed my head toward the dark wall and would not turn though you called a thousand times.
At fifteen my brows finally relaxed; I wished to be with you until we turned to dust and ash.
Your promise stood firm as the man who clung to a pillar; why would I climb a tower to watch for my husband?
At sixteen you went far away, to Qutang Gorge and the Yanyu rocks.
In the fifth month no ship can brush those rocks; the gibbons cry mournfully from the sky.
Your departing footprints lingered before the door; green moss grew over each one.
The moss is too deep to sweep away; early autumn winds bring fallen leaves.
In the eighth month butterflies come, flying in pairs over grass in the western garden.
Their sight wounds my heart; sitting in sorrow, I fear my rosy face will age.
When you come down from the Three Ba, send a letter home beforehand.
I will come to meet you, however far away, even as far as Changfeng Sands.

Li Bai — Hard Is the Road to Shu
Ah! How steep it is, how high!
The road to Shu is harder than climbing the blue sky!
Cancong and Yufu first founded the kingdom, so long ago the story is lost in haze!
Forty-eight thousand years passed before human paths connected it with the Qin frontier.
To the west, by Mount Taibai, only a bird path crossed toward Emei's summit.
Mountains broke, the earth collapsed, and strong men died; only then were the ladders to heaven and plank roads joined.
Above it towers a peak high enough to turn back the sun's six dragons;
Below, a rushing river bends back upon itself amid crashing waves.
Even the yellow crane cannot fly across; gibbons despair of climbing past it.
How twisting is the Blue Mud path! In a hundred paces it turns nine times around the crags.
We touch the Shen stars and pass the Jing stars, look up and hold our breath; with hands upon our chests we sigh aloud.
When will you return from your westward journey? The treacherous way climbs cliffs too sheer to scale.
Only grieving birds cry out in ancient trees, males flying and females following around the forest.
And we hear cuckoos crying beneath the night moon, bringing grief to the empty hills.
The road to Shu is harder than climbing the blue sky;
To hear this is enough to drain the color from a face!
Peak after peak stands within a foot of heaven; withered pines hang upside down from sheer cliffs.
Flying rapids and waterfalls roar in contest, striking cliffs and rolling boulders with the thunder of ten thousand valleys.
Such are its dangers: alas, traveler from afar, why have you come here?
Sword Gate rears high and forbidding: one man guards the pass, and ten thousand cannot break through.
If the man who guards it is not loyal, he turns wolf or jackal.
By morning avoid savage tigers; by evening, venomous snakes.
They grind their teeth and suck blood, slaughtering men beyond counting.
Though Brocade City may be pleasant, better hurry home.
The road to Shu is harder than climbing the blue sky;
I turn westward and sigh and sigh again.

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu, Spring Song
Luofu, a girl of Qin, gathers mulberry leaves beside green waters.
Her pale hands reach among green boughs; her red adornments shine in daylight.
“My silkworms are hungry; I must go. Do not linger here, lord of the five-horse carriage.”

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu, Summer Song
Mirror Lake stretches three hundred miles; lotus blossoms open everywhere.
Xi Shi picked them in the fifth month; crowds watching her filled Ruoye Creek.
Before the moon rose her boat turned back, bound for the king of Yue's home.

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu, Autumn Song
One expanse of moonlight over Chang'an; from ten thousand houses comes the sound of pounding clothes.
The autumn wind blows without end, bearing every thought toward the Jade Pass.
When will the nomad raiders be subdued, and the men we love come home from their long campaign?

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu, Winter Song
The courier sets out at dawn; all night I pad a soldier's winter coat.
My pale fingers grow cold pulling the needle; how can I bear to grip the scissors?
I cut and sew this coat to send it down the long road: how many days before it reaches Lintao?

Li Bai — Moon over the Frontier Pass
The bright moon rises over the Tianshan Mountains, amid vast oceans of cloud.
A great wind blows ten thousand miles across the Jade Pass.
The Han marched down the road to Baideng; the nomads watched Qinghai Bay.
This has always been a place of war; men who go there do not return.
Garrison soldiers gaze out over the border, their faces drawn with homesickness.
In high chambers tonight, their loved ones cannot have stopped sighing.

Li Yi — Song of the South
I married a merchant of Qutang, who fails our promised meetings morning after morning.
If I had known the tides kept faith, I would have married a man who rides the waves.

Li Qi — An Old Song of the Campaign
At dawn they climb the hill to watch for beacon fires; at dusk they water their horses by the Jiao River.
The watchmen's gongs sound through dark wind and sand; the princess's pipa is heavy with grief.
Wild clouds stretch ten thousand miles with no city walls in sight; sleet falls without end across the great desert.
Nomad geese fly each night with mournful cries; nomad children shed tears from both eyes.
Word comes that the Jade Pass is still closed: they must follow the light chariot with their lives.
Year after year, war bones lie buried beyond the wastes; all we see is grapes entering the Han lands.

Du Fu — Song of the War Carts
Carts rumble, horses neigh; every marching man carries bow and arrows at his waist.
Fathers and mothers, wives and children run to say farewell; dust hides the Xianyang Bridge.
They clutch at clothes, stamp their feet, and block the road crying; their cries climb straight into the clouds.
A passerby asks one of the men; he only says, “They draft us again and again.
Some at fifteen go north to guard the river, and at forty still farm for the army in the west.
When they went, the village head wrapped their heads for them; they came home white-haired, and still were sent to the border.
On that frontier blood flows enough to make a sea; the martial emperor has not tired of enlarging his borders.
Have you not heard of the two hundred prefectures east of the mountains in the Han realm, where thorn trees grow in a thousand villages?
Even when strong women hold the plow, the grain grows in disorder along the fields.
Yet the soldiers of Qin endure hard battles, driven about as though they were dogs or chickens.
Though you, elder, ask me, how dare a conscript voice his bitterness?
Take this very winter: the troops west of the passes have not been relieved.
The county officials demand taxes urgently: from what can taxes be paid?
Truly it is bad to have a son, and better to have a daughter.
A daughter can still marry into the neighboring house; a son is buried in the weeds.
Have you not seen the banks of Qinghai Lake, where old bones lie uncollected?
New ghosts chafe with grief, old ghosts cry out; in rainy darkness their voices wail.”

Du Fu — Song of the Beautiful Ladies
On the third day of the third month the air is fresh; by Chang'an's waters there are many beautiful women.
Rich in bearing, graceful in spirit, noble and true, their skin is smooth and their figures well proportioned.
Their embroidered silks shine in late spring, golden peacocks and silver unicorns raised on the fabric.
What ornaments crown their heads? Kingfisher-green leaves hang down beside their temples.
What shows behind them? Pearls weigh down their sashes, fitting perfectly at the waist.
Among them beneath cloudlike awnings are the palace consorts, the women called the Ladies of Guo and Qin.
Humps of purple camel are served from green cauldrons; white fish pass round on crystal plates.
Sated, they leave their rhinoceros chopsticks idle; the jeweled knives slice delicacies in vain.
Palace eunuchs gallop in without stirring dust, as cooks stream from the royal kitchen with eight exquisite dishes.
Flutes and drums sound plaintively, stirring even spirits; the press of their guests and followers fills the crossroads.
Then horsemen arrive, moving with deliberate ease; one dismounts before the pavilion and enters the brocade mat.
Willow fluff falls like snow over white water plants; a bluebird flies away with a red scarf in its beak.
His power burns to the touch, without equal: do not draw near, or the chief minister will be angry.

Du Fu — Lament at the Riverbank
An old man of Shaoling chokes back tears as he walks unseen beside the winding Qu River in spring.
A thousand palace doors are locked by the river; for whom do slender willows and new reeds grow green?
I remember when rainbow banners descended into the southern garden and everything within it brightened.
The foremost beauty of Zhaoyang Palace rode beside the king in his carriage and attended him.
Before their carriage, ladies of the court wore bows and arrows; white horses chewed at golden bits.
They turned and shot upward toward the clouds, bringing down a pair of birds with a single arrow.
Where are those bright eyes and white teeth now? Her wandering soul, blood-stained, cannot return.
The clear Wei flows east, the Sword Gate is deep; the one gone and the one left behind have no news of each other.
Human hearts have feeling and tears wet our breasts; do river waters and flowers have no end?
At dusk nomad riders fill the city with dust; I seek the south side of town and forget which way is south.

Du Fu — Lament for the Prince
White-headed crows perch on Chang'an's walls; at night they fly and cry over the Yanqiu Gate.
They peck at the roofs of great houses, beneath which high officials flee the nomads.
Golden whips break, nine horses die; kinsmen cannot wait for one another as they flee.
A jeweled pendant of green coral hangs at his waist; the royal grandson weeps in a corner of the road.
Asked who he is, he will not give his name; he speaks only of hardship and begs to become a servant.
He has hidden a hundred days among thorn bushes, without a patch of unbroken skin on his body.
The High Emperor's descendants all have prominent noses; the dragon's seed differs from ordinary men.
Wolves and jackals hold the city while the dragon lives in the wilderness; young prince, guard your precious life.
At the crossroads I dare not speak at length; I can only stand with the prince a moment.
Last night the east wind carried the smell of blood; camels came from the east and filled the old capital.
The brave men of Shuofang are skilled fighters: how fierce they once were, how foolish now.
I hear secretly that the emperor has passed on the throne, that his sacred virtue has won the northern and southern chanyus.
The people of Huamen have gashed their faces, asking to avenge the shame; do not speak of it—others are watching.
Alas, young prince, do not grow careless; the Five Mausoleums never lack auspicious air.

Du Qiuniang — Robe of Golden Thread
I urge you not to treasure a robe of golden thread;
I urge you to cherish the days when you are young.
When flowers bloom and can be picked, pick them now;
Do not wait until there are no flowers and pluck an empty branch.

Shen Quanqi — Alone, Unseen
The young wife of the Lu family sits in a turmeric-scented hall, while sea swallows nest in pairs on tortoiseshell beams.
In the ninth month the cold pounding blocks urge the leaves to fall; for ten years she has remembered his service at Liaoyang.
Beyond White Wolf River his letters have ceased; south of the Vermilion Phoenix Gate the autumn nights grow long.
Who will see her alone and filled with sorrow, while the bright moon shines on her yellow silk?

Meng Jiao — Song of the Faithful Woman
Parasol trees grow old together; mandarin ducks die as a pair.
A faithful wife prizes dying for her husband, yielding her own life as they do.
I swear no waves shall ever rise; my heart is water in an ancient well.

Meng Jiao — A Wanderer's Song
The thread in a loving mother's hands becomes the clothes upon her traveling son's back.
Before he leaves she stitches seam after close seam, afraid that he will be long in coming home.
Who says the heart of a single blade of grass can repay the sunlight of three spring months?

Gao Shi — Song of Yan, with Preface
In the twenty-sixth year of Kaiyuan, a traveler returned from a frontier campaign with Lord Zhang, the censor-in-chief. He showed me his “Song of Yan”; moved by the soldiers' campaign, I wrote this in response.
War smoke rises in the northeast of Han; Han generals leave home to break the remaining rebels.
Men naturally prize bold advances; the emperor has honored them beyond the ordinary.
Gongs clang and drums beat as they descend through Elm Pass; long banners wind among the Jieshi hills.
A commander's feathered dispatch flies across the desert; the chanyu's hunting fires light Wolf Mountain.
Bleak hills and rivers reach the outermost border; enemy horsemen charge arrogantly through wind and rain.
Half the soldiers die or live at the front; in the tents beautiful women still sing and dance.
On the great desert autumn comes to an end, frontier grasses wither; beneath the setting sun by the lonely town few men remain to fight.
Favored by the king, the generals always scorn their enemy; their strength spent beyond the passes, they have not broken the siege.
The armored men have endured their long distant service; after parting, tears must stream down their wives' pale cheeks.
Young wives south of the walls feel their hearts break; soldiers north of Ji look back in vain.
The frontier sweeps far away: how can they cross it? Beyond it lies only emptiness.
War's deadly air makes battle clouds all day; all night the watchman's gong sends out its chilling sound.
They look at one another, blood on bright blades; those who die for duty have never thought of honors.
Have you not seen the bitterness of war on the sands? Even now men remember General Li.

Cui Hao — Song of Changgan, First Poem
“Where is your home? Mine is in Hengtang.
I have stopped my boat to ask: perhaps we come from the same village.”

Cui Hao — Song of Changgan, Second Poem
“My home is by the waters of the Nine Rivers; I sail back and forth along their banks.
We are both people of Changgan, though we have not known each other since childhood.”

Lu Lun — Song beneath the Frontier, First Poem
Eagle feathers trim his golden-headed arrow;
His swallow-tailed banner is embroidered with ox tails.
He stands alone and proclaims the new command;
Ten thousand soldiers answer with a single shout.

Lu Lun — Song beneath the Frontier, Second Poem
The woods were dark; the grass stirred in the wind.
The general drew his bow by night.
At dawn they sought his white-feathered arrow:
It had sunk deep into a ridge of stone.

Lu Lun — Song beneath the Frontier, Third Poem
The moon is dark, geese fly high; by night the chanyu steals away.
We are about to pursue him with light cavalry, but heavy snow covers bows and swords.

Lu Lun — Song beneath the Frontier, Fourth Poem
A tent in the wild shelters the jeweled feast;
The Qiang and Rong congratulate the troops returned in triumph.
Drunk in golden armor, we join the dance;
Thunderous drums shake the mountains and rivers.

### Five-Character Regulated Verse

Wang Bo — Seeing Du Shaofu Off to His Post in Shuzhou
The city walls stand guarded by the lands of the Three Qin; through mist and wind we gaze toward the Five Ferries.
At parting, you and I share the same feeling, both travelers in the service of the state.
When a true friend lives within the four seas, the farthest horizon is as close as one's neighbor.
At this crossroads let us not weep into our scarves like children.

Wang Wei — Sending Governor Li to Zizhou
Trees touch the sky in ten thousand ravines; cuckoos echo across a thousand mountains.
After a night of rain among the hills, a hundred streams hang from the treetops.
Han women bring their cotton cloth in tribute; Ba men dispute the fields where taro grows.
Teach the people afresh, like Wen Weng; do not rest on a wise man's achievements before you.

Wang Wei — Looking Out over the Han River
The Chu frontier joins the Three Xiang rivers; at Jingmen the nine channels meet.
The river flows beyond earth and sky; the mountains flicker between presence and absence.
Cities and towns seem afloat upon the banks; waves set the distant sky in motion.
Fine breezes and sunlight bless Xiangyang; I would stay and drink with the old man of the hills.

Wang Wei — My Retreat at Mount Zhongnan
In middle age I came to love the Way; in later years I settled beside the southern mountain.
Whenever the mood takes me I go alone, savoring sights known to me alone.
I walk to the place where the water ends and sit to watch the clouds rise.
Sometimes I meet an old man of the woods and talk and laugh, forgetting the time to return.

Wang Wei — Mount Zhongnan
Mount Taiyi rises close to heaven's capital; its range extends to the sea's edge.
Looking back, white clouds gather; walking into the blue haze, I find it gone.
The lands change at the mountain's central peak; sun and shade differ in each valley.
Seeking a house where I might spend the night, I ask a woodcutter across the stream.

Wang Wei — In Reply to Deputy Prefect Zhang
In old age all I love is quiet; the world's affairs no longer concern my heart.
I know I have no far-reaching plans, and think only of returning to the woods I knew.
Pine winds stir as I loosen my sash; mountain moonlight shines as I play the zither.
You ask the secret of failure and success: a fisherman's song enters the deep inlet.

Wang Wei — Visiting the Temple of Accumulated Fragrance
Not knowing where the temple lies, I walk for miles into clouded peaks.
Ancient trees line a path with no travelers; somewhere in the deep hills a bell sounds.
A spring chokes over steep stones; sunlight grows cold among green pines.
At dusk, beside a bend in the empty pool, meditation stills the poisonous dragon.

Wang Wei — At Ease by the Wang River, for Scholar Pei Di
Cold mountains turn a deeper green; autumn waters murmur day by day.
Leaning on my staff outside the brushwood gate, I listen to evening cicadas in the wind.
The last sunlight stays upon the ferry; one column of smoke rises from the village.
Here comes another drunken Jieyu, singing wildly before the Five Willows.

Wang Wei — Autumn Evening in the Mountains
After fresh rain on the empty mountain, the evening air has turned to autumn.
Bright moonlight falls among the pines; a clear spring flows over stones.
Bamboo rustles as washerwomen return; lotus leaves stir beneath a fishing boat.
Let the flowers of spring fade as they will: a prince can find his home here.

Wang Wei — Returning to Mount Song
A clear stream skirts a long thicket; horse and carriage make their leisurely way.
The running water seems to have a purpose; evening birds return together.
A deserted town overlooks an ancient ferry; sunset fills the autumn hills.
Far beneath lofty Mount Song, I return and close my gate.

Wang Wan — Mooring below Mount Beigu
My traveling road runs beyond the green hills; my boat journeys before the green water.
The tide is level, the banks spread wide; a fair wind holds up a single sail.
The sun rises from the sea while night still lingers; spring comes to the river before the year has ended.
Where can my letter home find its way? With the returning geese to Luoyang.

Sikong Shu — Parting after a Night with Han Shen at Yunyang Inn
Old friend, when we parted amid rivers and seas, how many times mountains and waters lay between us!
Seeing you suddenly, I almost think I dream; grieving together, we ask how old each has grown.
A lone lamp lights the cold rain; smoke drifts dimly through deep bamboo.
Tomorrow's parting brings fresh pain; we share this farewell cup with reluctance.

Sikong Shu — Glad That My Cousin Lu Lun Came to Stay
No neighbors stir on this still night; poverty has left my ancestral home desolate.
Yellow leaves on trees in the rain; a white-haired man beneath the lamp.
Ashamed that I have lived alone so long, I am grateful that you come to see me often.
We have always been bound by friendship, and besides, we are kin through the Cai family.

Sikong Shu — Sending Someone North after the Rebels Were Defeated
In the chaos we went south together; in the peace you alone return north.
In strange lands your hair has turned white; in your native country you will see green hills.
At dawn the moon hangs over ruined ramparts; by starlight you will sleep at the old pass.
Cold birds and withered grass will everywhere accompany your sorrowing face.

Bai Juyi — Grass on the Ancient Plain, at Parting
The grass grows thick upon the plain, withering and flourishing once each year.
Wildfires cannot burn it all away; spring winds blow and it rises once again.
Its far-off fragrance invades the old road; sunlit green reaches the deserted town.
Once more I see a dear friend go; its lush growth fills me with sorrow at parting.

Song Zhiwen — At the Post Station North of Dayu Ridge
In the eleventh month geese fly south, but I hear they turn back here.
My journey is far from over; what day shall I return?
The river is still as the tide begins to fall; the darkened woods hold fast their feverish mist.
Tomorrow, looking toward home, I shall see plum blossoms above the ridge.

Cen Shen — Sent to Du, Reminder in the Left Secretariat
Together we ascend the vermilion stairs, then take our posts on opposite sides of the palace.
At dawn we follow the royal guard inside; at evening we return scented with imperial incense.
My white hair grieves as flowers fall; I envy the birds flying through blue sky.
In this sacred reign nothing calls for correction; I find my memorials of advice are few.

Li Bai — Hearing the Shu Monk Jun Play the Zither
A monk from Shu carries his green silk zither down from Mount Emei in the west.
He plays a passage for me: I hear pines in ten thousand valleys.
His flowing notes cleanse a traveler's heart; their echoes mingle with the evening temple bell.
I do not notice dusk falling on the green mountain, autumn clouds darkening fold upon fold.

Li Bai — Moored at Night at Niuzhu, Thinking of the Past
Night falls on the western river at Niuzhu; not a shred of cloud marks the blue sky.
I board the boat to gaze at the autumn moon, vainly remembering General Xie.
I too can sing fine verses, but there is no one like him to hear me.
Tomorrow I will hoist my sail, while maple leaves fall thick around me.

Li Bai — To Meng Haoran
I love Master Meng, whose graceful spirit is famed throughout the world.
In his rosy youth he cast aside cap and carriage; white-haired, he rests among pines and clouds.
Drunk beneath the moon, he often reaches the sage's state; enchanted by flowers, he does not serve a king.
How could I gaze up at such a lofty mountain? I can only breathe its clear fragrance.

Li Bai — Crossing Jingmen, a Farewell
Far beyond Jingmen I cross the river, coming to roam the lands of Chu.
The mountains end at a level plain; the river enters the vast wilderness.
The moon descends, a flying mirror in the sky; clouds gather into towers above the sea.
I still love the waters of home, which send my boat ten thousand miles on its way.

Li Bai — Seeing a Friend Off
Green mountains span the northern walls; white water circles the city to the east.
Here we part, and you drift a thousand miles, a lone tumbleweed.
Wandering clouds hold the traveler's thoughts; the setting sun holds an old friend's feeling.
We wave and go our separate ways; our parting horses neigh.

Li Yi — Glad to See My Cousin, Then Saying Farewell Again
After ten years of turmoil and separation, we meet at last, both grown.
Asked your surname, I am startled to see you; hearing your name, I remember the face of long ago.
We speak of all that has happened since parting, until the evening bell sounds beneath the sky.
Tomorrow you take the Baling road; how many folds of autumn hills will lie between us again?

Li Shangyin — Thoughts on a Cold Day
The guest has gone; waves lie level with the balustrade, cicadas fall silent, and dew fills the branches.
In this season my thoughts run on forever; I lean against the railing as the hours slip by.
The Northern Dipper is far away, and spring farther; my messenger to Nanling has long been delayed.
At the world's edge I cast dream lots again and again, fearing some new love has led you astray.

Li Shangyin — North of Green Vines
The last sun sinks west behind the hills; I seek the lone monk's thatched hut.
Among fallen leaves, where has he gone? How many clouded ridges cross this cold road?
Alone he strikes the evening bell; at ease he leans on a single vine staff.
The world is but a mote of dust: why should I love it or hate it?

Li Shangyin — The Cicada
Because it dwells so high, it cannot eat its fill; in vain it pours out its plaintive song.
Near dawn its faint calls almost cease; one green tree stands unmoved.
In my poor official post I drift like a stem on water; my old garden lies choked with weeds.
Your cry warns me above all: my whole family too lives pure and poor.

Li Shangyin — Wind and Rain
A bleak song of the precious sword; drifting abroad, I may spend my whole life so.
Yellow leaves endure the wind and rain; in pleasure towers flutes and strings play on.
New friends fall victim to a shallow world; old attachments are barred by cruel chance.
Xinfeng's wine breaks my heart; how many thousand coins must I spend to dispel this grief?

Li Shangyin — Fallen Flowers
The guest has finally left the high pavilion; flowers scatter through the small garden.
They drift unevenly along the winding path, far off toward the slanting light.
Heartbroken, I cannot bear to sweep them up; straining my eyes, I still hope they might return.
Their fragrant hearts go out with spring; all they gain is to wet my clothes with tears.

Du Fu — Climbing Yueyang Tower
Long ago I heard of Dongting Lake; today at last I climb Yueyang Tower.
It divides Wu from Chu, east from south; within its waters heaven and earth float day and night.
Not a word from kin or friends; old and ill, I have only a solitary boat.
North of the mountain passes, horses are at war; leaning on the railing, my tears flow.

Du Fu — Another Farewell to Lord Yan at Fengji Post Station
Seeing you far on your way, here we part; the green hills can only hold my feelings in vain.
When will we lift a cup together again? Only last night the moon traveled beside us.
The prefectures all sing your praises and mourn your departure; three reigns have honored you at court.
Alone I return to my riverside village, where in solitude I will nurture what remains of my life.

Du Fu — Parting at Grand Marshal Fang's Grave
I must travel again in a strange land; I stop my horse to bid farewell to your solitary grave.
Recent tears have left no earth dry; broken clouds hang low in the sky.
I played chess with you as with Lord Xie; bearing a sword, I seek you as Xu's lord was sought.
Now I see only woodland flowers fall, and hear orioles sing the traveler away.

Du Fu — Writing My Thoughts on a Night Journey
Fine grass stirs in a light wind on the bank; a tall mast stands over my lone boat at night.
Stars hang low above the vast level plain; the moon surges with the great river's flow.
Could my name have risen through writing? Old age and illness must be why I left office.
Adrift, what do I resemble? One sea gull between heaven and earth.

Du Fu — Passing Again through the Golden Light Gate
By this road I once escaped to loyal lines;
In the western suburbs enemy soldiers swarmed.
Even now the memory strikes terror in my heart;
Surely my wandering soul has not been called back.
Once an imperial attendant, I return to the capital;
Was my transfer to another post the sovereign's wish?
Without talent, growing older every day,
I stop my horse and gaze toward the palace's thousand gates.

Du Fu — Remembering My Younger Brothers on a Moonlit Night
Garrison drums cut off the roads; in autumn at the frontier a lone goose cries.
Dew turns white from tonight onward; the moon is brightest over home.
My brothers are all scattered; we have no home where I can ask if they live.
Letters I send never arrive, and the armies have not ceased fighting.

Du Fu — Thinking of Li Bai at the End of the Sky
A cool wind rises at the sky's far edge; how fares a man as noble as you?
When will a wild goose bring your message? Autumn waters swell the rivers and lakes.
Fate resents those whose writing flourishes; monsters rejoice when travelers pass their way.
You must speak with the wronged spirit and cast a poem into the Miluo River.

Du Fu — Moonlit Night
Tonight the moon shines over Fuzhou; alone in our room, you gaze at it.
Far away I pity our little children, who cannot yet know why you remember Chang'an.
Fragrant mist dampens your cloudlike hair; pure light chills your jade-white arms.
When will we lean together by the open curtains, both lit by moonlight until our tears run dry?

Du Fu — Spring View
The country lies broken, but hills and rivers remain; spring has come to the city, and grass and trees grow deep.
Grieving for the times, I weep among the flowers; pained by parting, I start at the birds.
Beacon fires have burned three months in succession; a letter from home would be worth ten thousand pieces of gold.
I scratch my white head, and the hair grows thinner still, nearly too sparse to hold a pin.

Du Fu — Spending a Spring Night at the Left Secretariat
Flowers fade into the palace walls at dusk; roosting birds fly past with little cries.
Stars tremble above ten thousand doors; the moon shines more brightly beside the high heavens.
Sleepless, I listen for the golden keys and imagine the jade pendants in the wind.
Tomorrow I must present a memorial; again and again I ask how much of the night remains.

Du Mu — Spending the Night at an Inn
At the travelers' inn I have no dear companion; my thoughts gather in silence.
The cold lamp makes me remember old days; a lone goose cries and startles me from sorrowing sleep.
A distant dream brings me home toward dawn; letters from home arrive a year late.
Mist and moonlight are lovely on the Xiang River; fishing boats lie moored outside our gate.

Du Xunhe — A Palace Woman's Spring Lament
Long ago my beauty led me astray;
I am too weary to dress before the mirror.
Imperial favor does not depend on looks:
How then shall I adorn myself?
In the warm wind birdsong scatters;
In the high sun flower shadows deepen.
Each year I remember the girls of Yue
Picking lotus flowers in the creek.

Du Shenyan — Responding to Lu the Magistrate's Early Spring View at Jinling
Only a man who serves far from home
Is so startled by new signs of the season.
At dawn clouds glow above the sea;
Across the river plum and willow bring spring.
Warm air urges yellow orioles to sing;
Clear sunlight turns the water plants green.
Suddenly I hear your song in an ancient mode,
And longing for home would wet my robe.

Shen Quanqi — Miscellaneous Poem
I hear that troops have been fighting year after year at Yellow Dragon Fort.
How pitiable the moon in my chamber: it shines constantly over the Han army's camp.
A young wife's thoughts turn to spring; her husband's thoughts last night were of home.
Who will lead the drums and banners and take Dragon City once and for all?

Meng Haoran — Spending the Night on the Tonglu River, Sent to Old Friends in Guangling
Darkening hills, and the gibbons' grieving cries; the blue river runs swift at night.
Wind makes the leaves sing on either shore; moonlight falls on a single boat.
Jiande is no homeland of mine; I remember old friends in Weiyang.
I send these two lines of tears far away toward the western shore of the sea.

Meng Haoran — Leaving Wang Wei
How long must this loneliness endure? Each morning I go home empty-handed.
I would seek the fragrant grass elsewhere, but cannot bear to part from my old friend.
Who among those in power will lend me help? Few in this world understand my heart.
So I will embrace solitude, return and close the door of my old garden.

Meng Haoran — Thoughts in the First Cold Days
Leaves fall, geese cross southward; north wind chills the river.
My home lies by a bend of the Xiang River, far beyond Chu's clouded horizon.
My tears for home are spent in a strange land; I watch a lonely sail on the sky's edge.
I wish to ask which ford leads there, but dusk floods the wide level waters.

Meng Haoran — Returning to the Southern Mountain at Year's End
I will send no more petitions to the northern palace; I return to my poor hut by the southern mountain.
A wise ruler has rejected my lack of talent; illness has driven old friends away.
White hair urges me into age; the green breath of spring drives out the old year.
Longing and sorrow keep me awake; moonlight among the pines falls on my empty window.

Meng Haoran — Visiting an Old Friend's Farm
My old friend prepared chicken and millet and invited me to his farm.
Green trees enclose the village; blue mountains slant beyond its walls.
We open the feast facing threshing ground and garden, raise wine and talk of mulberries and hemp.
When the Double Ninth comes, I will return to sit among the chrysanthemums.

Meng Haoran — Autumn Thoughts in Qin, Sent to the Monk Yuan
I have always longed to lie on a quiet hill, but lack the means to keep three paths at home.
This northern land is not my wish; I think of my teacher in the eastern woods.
My gold is spent as though it burned like precious cassia; my high ambitions fade with each passing year.
At dusk a cool wind comes; hearing cicadas only deepens my sorrow.

Meng Haoran — At Dongting Lake, Presented to Chancellor Zhang
In the eighth month the lake's waters lie level, holding the empty sky and blending with the great blue.
Mist rises over Yunmeng Marsh; waves shake the walls of Yueyang.
I wish to cross but have no boat or oars; to sit idle under a wise reign shames me.
Watching the fishermen cast their lines, I have only the longing to catch fish myself.

Meng Haoran — Climbing Mount Xian with Friends
Human affairs rise and pass away; comings and goings become the ancient and the present.
The rivers and mountains keep their glorious traces; we too climb here today.
Water recedes, and Fish Weir grows shallow; the air turns cold, and Yunmeng Marsh deepens.
The stele to Lord Yang is standing still; when I have read it, tears wet my robe.

Meng Haoran — Banquet at Daoist Mei's Mountain House
Resting in the woods, I grieve to see spring end; I open the window to gaze on the world's beauty.
Suddenly a bluebird messenger arrives, inviting me into Red Pine's home.
The alchemical stove has just been lit; flowers fall from the immortal peach trees.
If a youthful face could last, why spare the wine of rosy clouds?

Wei Zhuang — Night Thoughts at Zhangtai
The clear zither laments through the long night; wind and rain mourn around its strings.
Beneath a lonely lamp I hear a Chu horn; the fading moon sinks behind Zhangtai.
The fragrant grass has reached its late season; my old friend is still nowhere near.
I cannot send a letter home: the autumn geese are turning south again.

Wei Yingwu — Joyfully Meeting an Old Friend from Liangchuan on the Huai
We were once guests along the Yangzi and Han; each meeting ended with us drunk on the way home.
Drifting clouds parted us; ten years flowed by like water.
We laugh with all our former warmth, but our hair has thinned and turned gray.
Why not go home to the north? Here beside the Huai we face the autumn mountains.

Wei Yingwu — Evening Rain, Sending Li Zhou Away
In fine rain on the Chu River, evening bells sound in Jianye.
Out of the vast haze sails come heavy-laden; into the dark sky birds fly slowly.
The mouth of the sea lies hidden in the depths; far riverside trees gleam with moisture.
There is no end to my feeling as I see you off; it wets my collar like scattering threads of rain.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang — Sacrificing to Confucius at Zou and Lu, with a Sigh
What was the Master seeking,
So restless throughout his age?
The land remains the township of Zou;
His dwelling stands as a palace of the king of Lu.
He mourned the phoenix, grieving his own poor fortune;
He wept for the unicorn, lamenting the failure of his Way.
Seeing the offerings now between the two pillars,
I think of what he saw in his dream.

Ma Dai — Living on the Ba Plain in Autumn
Wind and rain cease on the Ba Plain; at dusk line after line of geese appear.
Leaves fall from foreign trees; a cold lamp lights a man alone at night.
White dew drips in the empty garden; a hermit monk lives beyond the lonely wall.
Long have I lain at a suburban gate; in what year can I offer myself to the world?

Ma Dai — Remembering the Past beside the Chu River
Cold dew gathers a chilly light; a faint sun sinks behind the Chu hills.
Gibbons cry among the trees of Dongting; I sit in a magnolia boat.
The bright moon rises above the broad marsh; dark mountains hem in the troubled current.
The Lord of the Clouds is nowhere to be seen; all evening I mourn the autumn alone.

Cui Tu — Thoughts on New Year's Eve
The road to the Three Ba stretches endlessly; far from home, I travel ten thousand precarious miles.
At night amid tangled mountains and lingering snow, I face the strange land's spring alone.
I grow farther from my own flesh and blood, closer by degrees to my servants.
How can I bear to be adrift when tomorrow a new year begins?

Cui Tu — A Lone Goose
The homeward rows have all passed the frontier; where will this solitary shape go?
In evening rain its calls go unanswered; it hesitates to descend on the cold pond.
Low clouds darken the islet it crosses; the moon above the pass follows it coldly.
Though no arrow need strike it, how can it help fearing to fly alone?

Chang Jian — Inscribed at the Meditation Hall behind Broken Mountain Temple
Early morning: I enter the old temple as the first sunlight shines among tall trees.
A winding path leads into seclusion; flowers and trees grow deep around the meditation hall.
Mountain light delights the birds; a pool's reflection empties the human heart.
All the sounds of the world fall silent here; only the temple bell can be heard.

Zhang Jiuling — Gazing at the Moon, Thinking of Someone Far Away
Above the sea a bright moon rises; at the ends of the earth we share this hour.
Those who love lament the long night; until dawn they are lost in longing.
I put out my candle to cherish its full light, throw on a robe and feel the dew grow thick.
I cannot gather moonlight in my hands to send you; I return to sleep and dream of our meeting.

Zhang Qiao — Writing of Frontier Affairs
The watch horn's tuned notes break the clear autumn air; a soldier leans upon the garrison tower.
Spring wind blows before the Green Mound; the white sun sets above Liangzhou.
No army blocks the great desert; travelers can roam the farthest border.
May the frontier people's hearts, like these waters, flow forever southward.

Zhang Ji — An Old Friend Lost among the Nomads
The year before last, when we marched against the Yuezhi, the whole army was lost upon the walls.
All news between nomad and Han has ceased; in life or death we remain apart.
No one gathers the abandoned tents; returning horses recognize tattered banners.
I would offer you rites, yet wonder if you live; at this hour I weep for you at the world's far edge.

Xu Hun — Inscribed on Tong Pass Inn Tower on an Autumn Journey to Court
Red leaves rustle in the late day; at the wayside pavilion I drink a gourd of wine.
The last clouds return to Mount Hua; scattered showers cross the Zhongtiao Mountains.
Colors of trees recede among distant hills; the river's voice journeys far toward the sea.
Tomorrow I reach the emperor's home, but still I dream of fishing and gathering wood.

Xu Hun — Early Autumn
A clear zither sounds through the long night; west wind rises among green vines.
The last fireflies settle on jewel-like dew; early geese graze the silver Milky Way.
At dawn the tall trees are still dense; in clear light the distant hills seem to multiply.
One leaf falls south of the Huai, and already I sense the waves of Dongting.

Wen Tingyun — Seeing a Friend Off on His Eastern Journey
Yellow leaves fall about the ruined garrison; resolutely you leave the old pass.
Strong wind blows at the Hanyang ferry; first sunlight touches the hills by Ying Gate.
How many friends remain beside the river? Your lonely oar returns from the world's edge.
When will we meet again, and soothe our parting faces over wine?

Monk Jiaoran — Seeking Lu Hongjian, but Not Finding Him
He moved his home nearer the town, yet a country path winds in through mulberry and hemp.
Only lately has he planted chrysanthemums by the fence; autumn has come, and they have not yet flowered.
I knock: not even a dog barks. As I turn to go, I ask at the house to the west.
They say he has gone into the hills; each day he returns when the sun is low.

Liu Changqing — Seeking the Daoist Chang by the Southern Creek
All along the road I follow, footprints show in moss and berries.
White clouds linger above a still islet; spring grass closes around an idle gate.
After the rain I gaze at the pines' color; following the hills, I reach the source of the stream.
Stream flowers and the spirit of meditation face each other beyond all words.

Liu Changqing — On the New Year
In the new year homesickness cuts deep; at the world's edge I shed tears alone.
Old age has brought me beneath other men; spring returns before its wandering guest.
Morning and evening gibbons cry along the ridges; riverside willows mingle with wind and mist.
I am already like the tutor exiled to Changsha: how many more years from now?

Liu Changqing — An Autumn View from the Temple on Lord Wu's Terrace
As leaves fall around the ancient terrace, I look toward home on an autumn day.
Few people come to the wild temple; clouded peaks rise beyond deep waters.
The setting sun rests on old fortifications; a cold bell fills the empty woods.
I grieve for the affairs of the southern dynasties; only the Yangzi survives to this day.

Liu Changqing — Sending Commander Li Home to His Hanyang Estate
Displaced commander of the southern armies, you once led a hundred thousand men.
Dismissed, you go home without your former estate; aging, you still cherish this enlightened age.
You stood alone and brought peace to three frontiers; only your sword knows how lightly you held your life.
Above the boundless Yangzi and Han, where will you go at dusk?

Liu Changqing — Seeing Wang Eleven Off on His Journey South
I watch you across the wide misty water, wave my hand, and wet my scarf with tears.
Where do the flying birds disappear? Green mountains face me in vain.
One sail dwindles on the long river; spring sunlight sets over the Five Lakes.
Who sees me here on the river islet, longing for you among the white water plants?

Liu Yuxi — Temple of the First Lord of Shu
A hero's spirit fills heaven and earth; after a thousand autumns it still inspires awe.
His strength divided the realm three ways; his rule restored the coinage of Han.
With a worthy minister he could found a kingdom; his son was nothing like his father.
How desolate: the former dancing girls of Shu came to perform before the palace of Wei.

Liu Shenxu — Untitled
The path disappears into white clouds; spring runs on beside the green creek.
Now and then fallen flowers arrive, borne from afar by fragrant waters.
An idle gate faces the mountain path; deep in willow shade stands a scholar's hall.
Even at midday seclusion casts its shadows; clear light shines upon my clothes.

Lu Lun — Seeing Li Duan Off
Withered grass covers the old pass; a farewell here is full of sadness.
Your road leads beyond cold clouds; you return in the hour of evening snow.
Orphaned young, I became a traveler early; amid so many troubles I came to know you late.
I hide my tears and gaze toward you in vain; where among the world's turmoil shall we meet again?

Qian Qi — Sending a Monk Home to Japan
You came to this great land to live as conditions led you, the outward journey like a dream.
The vast sea floats beneath the sky, far away; leaving the world behind, your boat of the teaching rides lightly.
Moon in water opens the vision of meditation; fish and dragons listen to the sacred chant.
I cherish only the light of one lamp, clear before my eyes across ten thousand miles.

Qian Qi — From My Study at the Valley Mouth, Sent to Assistant Censor Yang
Springs and ravines surround my thatched hut; clouds and rosy mists rise from the vine curtain.
I love the bamboo after fresh rain, the mountain in evening sunlight.
Idle egrets settle early as always; autumn flowers are slower still to fall.
My servant sweeps the vine-grown path: yesterday I promised to meet an old friend.

Luo Binwang — Singing of the Cicada in Prison, with Preface
The western fields ring with cicadas;
Exiled here, I am seized by memories of home.
How can I bear its dark-winged silhouette
As I sing with my hair turned white?
Heavy dew keeps it from flying far;
Strong winds drown out its song.
No one believes in its high purity;
Who will make my heart known?

Dai Shulun — An Unexpected Meeting with Old Friends from the River Country at an Inn
Autumn fills the sky, the moon is full again; a thousand layers of night surround the city.
We gather here once more as in the south; I almost think I meet you in a dream.
Branches in the wind startle crows in darkness; dew-drenched grass shelters cold insects.
As travelers far from home we can keep drinking; I ask you to stay, for I dread the bell of dawn.

Han Hong — Reply to Cheng's Poem on an Autumn Night
The long bamboo mat catches the early wind; pale moonlight bathes the empty city.
One goose crosses the autumn Milky Way; through the night a thousand houses sound with pounding blocks.
The season seems late already; lying awake, my hopes still lie far off.
I have been reciting your exquisite lines, and did not notice the crows had begun to cry.

### Seven-Character Regulated Verse

Yuan Zhen — Sending Away Grief, First Poem
Lord Xie's youngest, most beloved daughter married her poor Qianlou; everything went wrong.
Seeing that I had no clothes, you searched your little basket; when I begged for wine, you sold your golden hairpin.
You gladly ate wild greens, sweetening your meal with coarse beans, and fed the fire with fallen leaves from an old locust tree.
Today my stipend is over a hundred thousand coins; I make offerings for you and arrange another memorial feast.

Yuan Zhen — Sending Away Grief, Second Poem
The words we once spoke in jest about what would happen after death have come before my eyes today.
I have given your clothes away, one by one; your sewing things remain, and I cannot bear to open them.
Remembering our old affection, I cherish the servants you loved; sometimes I have dreamed of you and sent you gifts of money.
I know that everyone must suffer such loss, yet for a couple who were poor together, everything brings grief.

Yuan Zhen — Sending Away Grief, Third Poem
Sitting alone, I grieve for you and for myself: how long, after all, is a hundred years?
Deng You, left without a son, came at last to accept his fate; Pan Yue spent his words lamenting his dead wife.
What hope have I of sharing your dark tomb? Harder still to hope we meet in another life.
I can only keep my eyes open all night long, repaying the years in which your brow was never free of care.

Wang Wei — Reply to Secretary Jia's Poem on the Morning Court at Daming Palace
A keeper in a scarlet cap calls the dawn hours; the wardrobe attendant brings a kingfisher-green fur robe.
The gates of the nine heavens open to the palace halls; robed envoys of ten thousand realms bow before the jeweled crown.
At the first touch of sunlight the immortal's palm moves; incense smoke rises beside the dragon-embroidered robe.
When court is done, you must draft edicts in five colors and go home, your pendants ringing, toward Phoenix Pool.

Wang Wei — To Secretary Guo
The deep gateway and high pavilion glow in lingering light; peach and plum trees cast shade as willow down flies.
Within the palace faint bells sound at evening; in the secretariat birds call, with few officials near.
At dawn your jade pendants swing as you hurry to the golden hall; at dusk you bear a heavenly document into the latticed gate.
I long to follow you, but age defeats me; with illness as my reason, I shall lay aside court robes.

Wang Wei — Written at Imperial Command in Reply to His Majesty's Spring View in Rain on the Walkway from Penglai to Xingqing
The Wei River winds through the old Qin lands; Yellow Mountain once curved around the Han palace.
The royal carriage emerges far beyond a thousand willow-framed gates; from the elevated walk we look back at flowers in the imperial garden.
Among clouds, two phoenix towers rise over the capital; among spring trees in the rain, a myriad households dwell.
His Majesty goes out to follow the season's rites in the warmth of spring, not to amuse himself with the splendid view.

Wang Wei — Written at My Wang River Farm after Long Rains
After long rain, cooking smoke rises slowly from the empty woods; millet and wild greens are cooked and carried to the eastern fields.
Across broad watery paddies white egrets fly; in the shadow of summer trees golden orioles sing.
In the mountains I practice stillness and watch morning hibiscus bloom; beneath pines I break dew-wet mallow for my simple meal.
The old countryman no longer contends for a place with other guests: why, then, do the sea gulls still suspect me?

Bai Juyi — After Disorder in Henan and Famine inside the Passes Scattered My Brothers, Written While Looking at the Moon for My Elder Brother at Fuliang, My Seventh Brother at Yuqian, My Fifteenth Brother at Wujiang, and My Younger Brothers and Sisters at Fuli and Xiagui
The times are troubled, the year hungry, and our family estate has vanished; my brothers travel, each scattered east or west.
Fields and gardens lie abandoned after the wars; kinsmen wander the roads far from one another.
Mourning our own shadows, we are geese dispersed a thousand miles; torn from our roots, we drift like autumn tumbleweed.
Seeing the same bright moon, we must all weep: one night, one longing for home, in five different places.

Cen Shen — Reply to Secretary Jia Zhi's Poem on the Morning Court at Daming Palace
Cocks crow along the purple avenues, cold in dawn light; orioles sing in the imperial city as spring grows late.
Morning bells in the golden palace open ten thousand doors; on jade steps the heavenly guard gathers a thousand officials.
Flowers welcome their swords and pendants as stars begin to fade; willows brush the banners while dew is still wet.
Only you, guest of Phoenix Pool, have sung a spring song so fine that none can answer it.

Li Bai — Climbing Phoenix Terrace in Jinling
Once a phoenix roamed Phoenix Terrace; now the phoenix is gone, the terrace empty, and the river flows on.
Flowers and grass from the palace of Wu bury its hidden paths; the fine robes of Jin have become ancient mounds.
Three Mountains seem half lost beyond the blue sky; the river splits around White Egret Isle.
Drifting clouds always hide the sun; unable to see Chang'an, I grieve.

Li Shangyin — Untitled
It was hard to meet and just as hard to part; the east wind is weak and a hundred flowers fade.
The spring silkworm spins until death, when its silk is spent; a candle's tears dry only after it has turned to ash.
At dawn, before your mirror, you may grieve to see your cloudlike hair changing; reciting by night, you must feel the cold moonlight.
The immortal Mount Peng is not far from here; bluebird, bring me word of her with all your care.

Li Shangyin — Untitled, First Poem
Phoenix-tailed fragrant silk lies fold on fold; late at night she stitches its blue-patterned canopy.
Her fan, cut like the moon, cannot hide her shy face; the carriage rolls away like thunder before they can speak.
Once, in solitude, the gold lamp sank to embers; now pomegranate blossoms redden without a word of news.
His dappled horse is tethered only on the bank beneath hanging willows; where in the southwest can she await a kindly wind?

Li Shangyin — Untitled, Second Poem
Layered curtains hang low in the Hall of No Sorrow; lying down, she feels the clear night slowly lengthen.
The goddess's life was a dream from the start; the young girl lived alone, with no beloved.
Wind and waves care nothing for the weakness of water chestnut stems; who taught the fragrant cassia leaves to meet the moon and dew?
Though I know this longing brings no gain, let me keep this sweet madness and its grief.

Li Shangyin — The Brocade Zither
Why should the brocade zither have fifty strings? Every string, every bridge recalls the flowering years.
Master Zhuang's dawn dream lost itself among butterflies; Emperor Wang entrusted his spring heart to the cuckoo.
Under a bright sea moon pearls hold tears; beneath the warm sun of Lantian, jade gives off mist.
Can such feeling wait to become a memory? Even then, I was already lost within it.

Li Shangyin — Sui Palace
The palaces of Purple Springs lie locked in mist and clouds;
The emperor wished to make ruined Wucheng his capital.
Had the jade seal not gone to the man with a sun-shaped brow,
His brocade sails might have reached the earth's far edge.
Now rotting grass holds no fireflies;
Through the ages, evening crows settle on the drooping willows.
If beneath the earth he meets the last ruler of Chen,
Should he ask again for the song “Flowers in the Rear Court”?

Li Shangyin — Untitled, First Poem
“You will come” was an empty promise; when you went, no trace remained. A slanting moon hangs over the tower as the fifth-watch bell sounds.
In a dream, distant parting made me weep beyond waking; urged to write, I sealed a letter before the ink had darkened.
Candlelight half surrounds golden kingfisher ornaments; a breath of musk passes over embroidered lotuses.
Liu once lamented that Mount Peng lay far away: between us are ten thousand more Mount Pengs!

Li Shangyin — Untitled, Second Poem
The east wind rustles as fine rain falls; beyond the lotus pond, faint thunder sounds.
A golden toad grips the lock of the censer where incense burns; a jade tiger draws up the well rope and its bucket.
The Jia girl peered through a curtain at handsome Han; the goddess of the Luo left a pillow for the gifted prince of Wei.
Heart of spring, do not flower alongside the flowers: an inch of longing turns an inch to ash.

Li Shangyin — At the Planning Brush Post Station
Gibbons and birds still seem to fear his commands;
Wind and clouds still guard his battlements.
He let the great commander wield his inspired brush,
Yet in the end saw a surrendered king ride off in a courier cart.
His talent rivaled Guan Zhong and Yue Yi without shame;
But Guan Yu and Zhang Fei had died—what could he do?
Years later, passing his shrine in the Brocade Quarter,
I sing “Liangfu” and find my grief has no end.

Li Shangyin — Untitled
Last night's stars, last night's wind, west of the painted tower and east of the cassia hall.
Though we have no bright phoenix wings to fly together, our hearts share a spark of understanding like the sacred rhinoceros horn.
Across the tables they passed the hidden hook, warm with spring wine; in teams they guessed concealed objects beneath red candles.
Alas, hearing the drum I had to go to my post, riding to the Orchid Terrace like a tumbling weed.

Li Shangyin — Spring Rain
In the new spring I lie despondent in a white unlined robe;
At White Gate all is lonely, and my wishes turn to dust.
The red tower across the rain looks cold and remote;
Alone I return beneath pearl blinds and swaying lanterns.
On the distant road you must mourn the late spring;
The last part of the night still brings me faint dreams.
How can I send a letter sealed with jade earrings?
Across ten thousand miles of cloud net, one wild goose flies.

Li Qi — Seeing Wei Wan Off to the Capital
At dawn I hear the traveler sing his parting song; last night a slight frost first crossed the river.
The cry of wild geese is unbearable when one is sad; how much harder to pass the clouded mountains far from home.
Trees along the pass warn of approaching cold; in the imperial garden pounding blocks grow loud toward dusk.
Do not think of Chang'an only as a place of pleasure and let the passing years be wasted.

Du Fu — Remembering Ancient Sites, First Poem
Broken and scattered amid the northeast's dust of war, I drift between the southwestern skies and earth.
The towers by the Three Gorges have detained me through the seasons; the people of the Five Streams share these clouded hills.
The Jie nomads who served their lord proved treacherous in the end; this poet mourns his age and has not yet returned.
Yu Xin's life was full of desolation; in old age his poems stirred the country about the Yangzi passes.

Du Fu — Remembering Ancient Sites, Second Poem
Watching the leaves fall, I deeply understand Song Yu's grief; his refined and graceful spirit makes him my teacher.
Across a thousand autumns I gaze sadly and shed a tear, born in a different age and time of trouble.
His old home stands amid rivers and hills, but all that remains is his art; could the ruined Cloud and Rain Terrace have been only a dream?
The palaces of Chu themselves have wholly vanished; even today boatmen point them out in uncertainty.

Du Fu — Remembering Ancient Sites, Third Poem
A thousand hills and valleys run toward Jingmen, where the village that raised the Radiant Consort remains.
Once she left the purple palace for the northern desert; only her green grave stayed to face the dusk.
They knew her springtime face only from a painting; her spirit returns in vain beneath the moon, with jeweled pendants ringing.
A thousand years of pipa music speak in the nomad tongue, and its melodies tell her grievance plainly.

Du Fu — Remembering Ancient Sites, Fourth Poem
The ruler of Shu hoped to take Wu, and journeyed to the Three Gorges; the year he died, he lay in Yong'an Palace.
I imagine his kingfisher banners amid empty hills; his jade hall is lost within a rustic shrine.
Water birds nest among the cedars and pines of the ancient temple; each season villagers hurry there with offerings.
The shrine of his minister stands always close beside it; lord and servant receive the same rites as one.

Du Fu — Remembering Ancient Sites, Fifth Poem
Zhuge's great name fills the universe; the portrait of this minister still radiates lofty dignity.
His plans shaped the division into three kingdoms; above ten thousand ages he soars, a feather in the heavens.
His peers were Yi Yin and Lü Shang; even Xiao He and Cao Shen fall short of his command.
Fortune shifted; he could not restore the Han. His resolve held firm, and hard campaigns wore out his life.

Du Fu — Hearing That the Imperial Army Has Recovered Henan and Hebei
Beyond Sword Gate news came suddenly: Ji North has been retaken! Hearing it, I drenched my robes with tears.
I turn to my wife and children: where is sorrow now? I roll up my books and papers, almost mad with joy.
In broad daylight I will sing and drink my fill; with spring as my companion, I can go home.
Straight through Ba Gorge and Wu Gorge, then down past Xiangyang to Luoyang!

Du Fu — A Night at the Headquarters
In clear autumn the parasol tree by the headquarters well is cold;
Alone I sleep in the river city as the candle burns low.
Through the long night the horn's sound speaks to itself in grief;
At the sky's center, who can share the beauty of the moon?
The dust of war has dragged on; letters have ceased;
Passes are desolate, and travel by land is hard.
Ten years of solitude I have endured already;
I make myself perch in this one branch and find peace.

Du Fu — Night in the Tower
At year's end, daylight dwindles as winter advances; at the edge of the world, frost and snow clear beneath a cold night sky.
In the fifth watch, drums and horns sound tragic and grand; in the Three Gorges, stars and the Milky Way tremble in reflection.
We hear a thousand families weeping in the wilds at news of battles; from several places songs of the tribes rise among fishermen and woodcutters.
Crouching Dragon and Leaping Horse have both become yellow earth; the news of human lives passes into silence.

Du Fu — Climbing the Heights
Wind blows sharp, the sky is high, and gibbons cry in grief;
Above clear islets and white sand, birds wheel in flight.
Endless trees let fall their leaves with a rustle;
The inexhaustible Yangzi comes rolling on.
Ten thousand miles from home, I am always a guest in sorrowful autumn;
A hundred years of illness, and I climb the terrace alone.
These hard times have brought deep bitterness to my frosted hair;
Broken in spirit, I have lately stopped my cup of rough wine.

Du Fu — Climbing the Tower
Flowers crowd the high tower and wound a traveler's heart; I climb it while calamities spread across the land.
Spring light comes down the Brocade River from heaven and earth; clouds over Jade Rampart change with ancient and modern times.
The court that faces the North Star will not change; bandits of the western hills, do not attack it.
Even the poor last lord has his shrine; at dusk I can only sing “Liangfu.”

Du Fu — The Chancellor of Shu
Where shall I find the chancellor's shrine?
Outside the Brocade City, where cypresses grow thick.
Green grass against the steps keeps its spring color;
Behind the leaves, an oriole sings its lovely notes in vain.
Three visits brought him the plans for all beneath heaven;
Through two reigns he gave a loyal minister's heart to founding and governing.
He died before his campaign had won;
For all time he leaves heroes with tears upon their robes.

Du Fu — A Guest Arrives
North and south of my cottage spring waters spread;
All day I see only flocks of gulls come by.
I have never swept the flower path for a guest;
Today, for you, I first open my vine-grown gate.
The market is far: my table offers no choice of dishes;
We are poor: my wine jar holds only last year's brew.
If you will drink with my old neighbor as well,
I'll call across the fence for him to finish our cups.

Du Fu — Looking into the Distance
Western hills wear snow above the three frontier forts; in the south, the clear river runs beneath Ten Thousand Mile Bridge.
War's dust across the land keeps me apart from my brothers; at the world's edge my tears fall, far from everyone.
In the late years left to me I can offer only an ailing body; I have not repaid this sacred reign by the smallest grain of dust.
Sometimes I ride beyond the city and gaze toward the horizon, unable to bear the daily ruin of human affairs.

Liu Zongyuan — From Liuzhou Tower, Sent to the Governors of Zhang, Ting, Feng and Lian
A high tower rises over the city against the great wilderness; thoughts of grief stretch endlessly toward sea and sky.
A wild wind tosses the waters around the hibiscus; driving rain slants into the walls covered with vines.
Trees beyond the mountains block my view for a thousand miles; the bending river winds like nine turns of my heart.
We came together to the tattooed lands of the Hundred Yue, yet even our letters cannot cross from one prefecture to another.

Huangfu Ran — Spring Thoughts
Orioles sing and swallows chatter, heralding the new year; how many thousand miles away are Mayi and Dragon Mound?
My home is in Qin's city beside the old Han gardens; my heart follows the bright moon into nomad skies.
The words I weave into brocade speak of endless regret; flowering boughs by the tower seem to laugh at my solitary sleep.
I would ask General Dou, commander of the cavalry: when will you turn your banners home from Mount Yanran?

Wei Yingwu — Sent to Li Dan and Yuan Xi
Last year we parted among blossoms; now the flowers have bloomed again after a year.
The world's affairs lie beyond all reckoning; dark spring sorrow alone lulls me to sleep.
With so many illnesses I long for fields at home; with refugees in my district, I am ashamed to draw my salary.
I hear you plan to come and see me; watching the moon from my western tower, I have seen it round so many times.

Zu Yong — Gazing toward Ji Gate
One sight from the terrace of Yan startles a traveler's heart: pipes and drums clamor in the Han general's camp.
Cold brilliance rises for ten thousand miles from piled snow; dawn light makes the banners move along three frontiers.
Beacons on the sands burn beneath the nomad moon; clouded hills by the sea surround Ji City.
Though I was no clerk who cast aside his brush as a boy, I too would ask for the long tassel and win honor.

Qin Taoyu — The Poor Girl
She has never known the scent of silk at her thatched gate; seeking a good matchmaker only deepens her hurt.
Who loves fine spirit and lofty grace? Everyone favors the sparing fashions of the day.
She dares claim that her ten fingers have uncommon skill; she will not paint her brows to compete in beauty.
How bitter to work gold thread year after year, making bridal clothes for other women.

Gao Shi — Sending Junior Prefects Li and Wang to Exile
Alas, what does this farewell mean for you both? I stop my horse, lift my cup, and ask about your places of exile.
Gibbons cry in Wu Gorge, bringing tears in rows; returning geese over Hengyang might bring a few letters.
Above the Green Maple River the autumn sky stretches far; beside Baidi City ancient trees stand thin.
This enlightened age still sends abundant rain and dew; part for a while, and do not despair.

Cui Shu — Climbing the Immortal's Terrace on the Ninth, for Magistrate Liu
The Han emperor Wen built this high terrace; as we climb today, morning light unfolds.
Clouds and hills of the Three Jin face north; wind and rain come from the eastern imperial tombs.
Who could recognize the keeper of the mountain pass? The immortal beside the river has gone and will not return.
For now I will seek the magistrate of Pengze nearby and drink with him in joy from cups of chrysanthemum wine.

Cui Hao — Yellow Crane Tower
A man of former days rode away upon a yellow crane; here only Yellow Crane Tower remains.
Once gone, the yellow crane has never returned; white clouds have drifted idly for a thousand years.
Across the clear river the trees of Hanyang stand distinct; on Parrot Isle the fragrant grass grows thick.
At dusk, where is my home? Misty waves upon the river fill me with sorrow.

Cui Hao — Passing through Huayin
Lofty Mount Hua overlooks the capital of Xianyang; its three peaks beyond the sky seem beyond all carving.
Clouds disperse before the Martial Emperor's shrine; rain has just cleared over the Immortal's Palm.
To the north, river and mountains guard Qin's treacherous passes; westward, trees beside the post road reach the level Han altar.
I ask you seekers of wealth and fame along the road: would it not be better to seek long life here?

Wen Tingyun — Crossing South of Lizhou
Empty water glows serenely against the setting sun; crooked islands meet dark green mountain haze.
Above the waves a horse neighs, watching oars depart; beside willows travelers rest and await the returning boat.
Gulls scatter over a few clumps of sandy grass; one egret flies across ten thousand acres of riverside fields.
Who knows how to take a boat and seek Fan Li, forgetting worldly designs among the mist and waters of the Five Lakes?

Wen Tingyun — Temple of Su Wu
Before the Han envoys, Su Wu's spirit was overwhelmed; old shrine and lofty trees alike stretch into the misty past.
Beyond the clouds geese vanished beneath the nomad moon; on the ridge sheep returned through smoke over frontier grass.
When he came home, the halls were not those of the emperor's old tent; when he left, he wore cap and sword in the prime of life.
At Maoling he found no noble seal to claim; before autumn waves he wept for waters running away.

Liu Changqing — Parting Again from Officials Xue Six and Liu Eight at Jiangzhou
Who could have thought my life's journey would bring a gracious decree? I know only that in worldly affairs I must learn the drunkard's song.
Wild geese cross a moonlit river; south of the Huai the leaves fall, and the Chu hills seem many.
I take comfort that my refuge by blue waters is near; seeing my reflection, I can do nothing about my white hair.
Now I am old and cast aside by all; ashamed, I thank you for still warning me to take care amid the wind and waves.

Liu Changqing — Passing Jia Yi's House in Changsha
For three years he lingered here as an exiled official; for ten thousand ages only the Chu visitor's sorrow remains.
Alone I seek him among autumn grass, long after his departure; in the cold woods I see only the slanting sun.
Emperor Wen of Han was wise, yet showed so little favor; the Xiang River is indifferent and could not know his lament.
In these desolate hills and rivers where leaves fall, I pity you: why were you sent to the earth's far edge?

Liu Changqing — From Xiakou to Parrot Isle, Gazing toward Yueyang, Sent to Governor Yuan
No waves or mists obscure the river islet; for a traveler in Chu, longing stretches ever farther.
At Hankou the setting sun shines on a bird crossing; at Dongting autumn waters meet the far sky.
Behind a lonely town, horns sound cold by the ridge; under a lone tree by the river a boat moors for the night.
Jia Yi wrote memorials grieving for the Han; exiled to Changsha, he is pitied in every age.

Liu Yuxi — Remembering the Past at West Fortress Mountain
Wang Jun's towered warships sailed down from Yizhou; Jinling's royal aura darkened and died.
A thousand-yard iron chain sank to the riverbed; a single flag of surrender rose from Stone City.
How often has the world lamented what is past? The shape of the mountain still rests beside the cold current.
Now the four seas are one home, and autumn reeds rustle across the old fortifications.

Lu Lun — Mooring at Ezhou in the Evening
The clouds part and distant Hanyang City comes in view, yet my solitary sail is still a day's journey away.
Merchants sleep by day, knowing that the waves are calm; hearing boatmen talk at night, I sense the tide has risen.
On the Three Xiang my graying hair meets the autumn; beneath the moon my heart flies ten thousand miles toward home.
My old estate has vanished in the wars; how can I bear the drums of battle beside the river?

Qian Qi — To Secretary Pei at the Palace Gate
In the second month golden orioles fly through Shanglin Park; at dawn spring shadows darken the purple Forbidden City.
The bells of Changle fade beyond the blossoms; rain deepens the willows' green by Dragon Pool.
The mild spring cannot lift the sorrow of a man at the end of his road; in the heavens I always dream of holding up the sun.
For ten years I have offered poems and have yet to find favor; ashamed, I show my white hair among your splendid court pins.

Xue Feng — Palace Song
In the twelve towers every woman makes herself beautiful at dawn; from the Tower of Watching Immortals they watch for the king.
The golden beast holds a cold chain of rings in its teeth; water dripping from the bronze dragon measures the long hours of day.
She combs her cloudlike hair and turns again to the mirror; about to change her silk dress, she adds more perfume.
From afar she peers toward the open curtain of the great hall, where courtiers in robes and trousers sweep the imperial bed.

Han Hong — Written at Immortal Wandering Temple
At the immortal's terrace I first see the towers of the five cities;
The scene is hushed as the night's rain clears.
Distant mountains meet Qin's trees in evening light;
Nearby, pounding blocks announce autumn in the Han palace.
Thin pine shadows lie on the quiet empty altar;
The scent of fine grasses fills the small secluded cavern.
Why seek another world elsewhere?
Here in the world of men there is also Mount Danqiu.

### Five-Character Quatrains

Yuan Zhen — Traveling Palace
Desolate, the ancient traveling palace; its flowers glow red in solitude.
White-haired palace women still live there, sitting idly to speak of Xuanzong.

Wang Zhihuan — Climbing Stork Tower
The white sun sinks behind the hills; the Yellow River flows into the sea.
To see to the end of a thousand miles, climb one story higher.

Wang Jian — The New Bride
On the third day she enters the kitchen, washes her hands and makes a soup.
Not yet knowing her mother-in-law's tastes, she has her young sister-in-law try it first.

Wang Wei — Longing
Red beans grow in the southern land; how many branches have sprouted this spring?
Gather as many as you can for me: these bear longing more than anything.

Wang Wei — Miscellaneous Poem
You have come from my native place; you must know what has happened there.
At the patterned window before our house, has the winter plum come into flower?

Wang Wei — Deer Enclosure
On the empty mountain no one appears; only the echoes of human voices sound.
Returning sunlight enters the deep woods and shines again upon the green moss.

Wang Wei — Bamboo Grove Pavilion
I sit alone among secluded bamboo, play my zither and sing aloud.
No one knows I am in the deep woods; the bright moon comes to shine on me.

Wang Wei — Farewell
I have seen you off among the hills; at dusk I close my brushwood door.
The spring grass will grow green next year: dear friend, will you come back?

Bai Juyi — Asking Liu Nineteen
Newly brewed wine, green with foam;
A little stove of red clay.
Evening comes, and snow is on the way:
Will you come and drink a cup?

A Poet of the Western Frontier — Song of Geshu
The seven stars of the Dipper ride high; by night Geshu wears his sword.
Even now the riders watching for grazing horses dare not pass Lintao.

Li Bai — Thoughts on a Quiet Night
Before my bed I see the moonlight;
I take it for frost upon the ground.
I lift my head to gaze at the mountain moon;
I lower it, remembering home.

Li Bai — A Bitter Heart
A lovely woman rolls up her beaded curtain, sits deep within and knits her slender brows.
I see only the wet tracks of tears; I do not know whose memory fills her with pain.

Li Shangyin — Climbing Leyou Plain
Toward evening, troubled at heart, I drive my carriage up the ancient plain.
The setting sun is beautiful beyond measure; it is only that dusk is drawing near.

Li Duan — Hearing the Zither
The zither rings on golden bridges; her white hands play before the jade chamber.
Longing for young Zhou to look her way, again and again she brushes a string awry.

Li Pin — Crossing the Han River
Beyond the southern mountains no letters came;
I passed one winter, then another spring.
The nearer I come to home, the more afraid I grow:
I dare not ask the travelers who come this way.

Du Fu — The Eight Formations
His achievements overshadowed a kingdom divided in three; his fame was made by the Eight Formations.
The river flows on, but their stones remain unmoved; his lasting regret was failing to conquer Wu.

Meng Haoran — Staying on the Jiande River
I move my boat to moor beside a misty islet; at dusk a traveler's sorrow is renewed.
Across the broad plain the sky hangs below the trees; in the clear river the moon draws close to me.

Meng Haoran — Spring Dawn
Sleeping in spring, I did not know dawn had come; everywhere I hear birds calling.
In the night, the sounds of wind and rain: how many blossoms have fallen?

Jin Changxu — Spring Lament
Drive away that golden oriole: do not let it sing upon the branch.
Its song startles me out of my dream before I can reach Liaoxi.

Liu Zongyuan — Snow on the River
Across a thousand mountains, no birds fly; on ten thousand paths, not a human trace.
One boat, an old man in straw cape and hat, fishing alone amid snow on the cold river.

Wei Yingwu — Sent to Secretary Qiu on an Autumn Night
I think of you on this autumn night
As I stroll and sing beneath the chilly sky.
Pine nuts fall on the empty mountain;
You, secluded there, must still be awake.

Zu Yong — Looking at the Remaining Snow on Mount Zhongnan
On Zhongnan's shaded slopes the view is lovely; piled snow floats among the clouds.
Sunset shines above the forest; in the city, evening cold deepens.

Zhang Hu — Song of He Manzi
Three thousand miles from my native land;
Twenty years within the deep palace.
I sing one verse of “He Manzi”;
Two tears fall before my lord.

Jia Dao — Seeking a Recluse, but Not Finding Him
Beneath a pine I ask a boy; he says, “My master has gone to gather herbs.
He is somewhere in these hills, but the clouds are deep, and I don't know where.”

Pei Di — Seeing Cui Nine Off
As you return to the mountains, go as far as you please;
Take in all the beauty of the hills and valleys.
Do not be like the man of Wuling,
Who visited Peach Blossom Spring only for a while.

Liu Changqing — Sending Lingche Off
Blue in the distance stands Bamboo Grove Temple; far away its evening bell is heard.
Carrying his bamboo hat through sunset, he walks alone into the green hills.

Liu Changqing — Playing the Zither
Clear notes sound upon seven strings; I listen still, hearing cold wind among the pines.
I love this old melody, but few people play it now.

Liu Changqing — Sending Off a Monk
A solitary cloud and a wild crane: how could you dwell among men?
Do not buy land on Mount Wozhou; the people of our age already know where it lies.

Quan Deyu — In the Style of Jade Terrace
Last night the ties of my skirt came undone;
This morning a lucky spider flew across my room.
I must not neglect my makeup:
Could it be my husband coming home?

### Seven-Character Quatrains

Wang Changling — Seeing Xin Jian Off at Lotus Tower
Cold rain fell all night on the river into Wu; at dawn I see you off before the lonely Chu hills.
If my friends and family in Luoyang ask about me, say my heart is a piece of ice in a jade vessel.

Wang Changling — A Wife's Lament
The young wife in her chamber had never known sorrow; one spring day she dressed beautifully and climbed her green tower.
Suddenly she saw the willows lining the road and regretted having urged her husband to seek a marquisate.

Wang Changling — Spring Song of the Palace
Last night the wind opened peach blossoms by the uncovered well; above Weiyang's front hall the full moon stood high.
A dancer from Pingyang has just won his favor; in the spring cold beyond the curtain, she is given a brocade robe.

Wang Wei — On the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month, Remembering My Brothers East of the Mountains
Alone in a strange land, a stranger among strangers, each festival makes me long for my kin all the more.
Far away I know my brothers are climbing the heights; each wears a sprig of dogwood, but one of us is missing.

Wang Han — Song of Liangzhou
Fine grape wine in a cup that shines by night; I would drink, but the pipa urges us into the saddle.
Do not laugh if we lie drunk on the battlefield: how many who went to war in ancient times came home?

Bai Juyi — Palace Song
Tears soak my silk scarf; I cannot fall asleep or dream.
Deep in the night, from the front hall comes the sound of songs rehearsed.
My rosy face has not yet aged, but his favor has already ended;
I lean against the fragrant brazier and sit until daybreak.

Zhu Qingyu — Song of the Palace
In the flowering season the courtyard gates stay closed and still;
Two beauties stand together beneath the jeweled veranda.
They long to speak of things within the palace,
But dare not say a word before the parrot.

Zhu Qingyu — To Director Zhang before the Examination
Last night the bridal chamber's red candles burned; at dawn I must bow before my husband's parents.
When I finish dressing, I ask my husband softly: “Are the shades of my painted brows in fashion?”

Cen Shen — Meeting a Messenger Bound for the Capital
Eastward toward my old home the road stretches without end; both sleeves are drenched, and still my tears do not dry.
We meet on horseback, and I have neither paper nor brush; please carry word that I am safe.

Li Bai — Seeing Meng Haoran Off to Guangling
My old friend says farewell in the west at Yellow Crane Tower;
Amid the mists and blossoms of the third month he sails down to Yangzhou.
The distant image of his lone sail vanishes beyond green mountains;
I see only the Yangzi flowing at the sky's edge.

Li Bai — Sailing down to Jiangling
At dawn I leave Baidi amid many-colored clouds;
A thousand miles to Jiangling, yet home in a single day.
The gibbons on both banks have not ceased calling
Before my light boat passes ten thousand folds of mountains.

Li Yi — Hearing a Flute at Night above the City of Surrender
Before Huilie Peak the sand is like snow; beneath the city of surrender moonlight lies like frost.
Somewhere a reed flute is playing: all night the soldiers gaze toward home.

Li Shangyin — Master Jia
In the Xuanshi Hall the emperor summoned a banished minister in search of wisdom; Master Jia's gifts had no equal.
Pity how he leaned toward him at midnight—only to ask about ghosts and spirits, not the lives of his people.

Li Shangyin — Sui Palace
He went south for pleasure, careless of military precautions;
Who inside the ninefold palace read the letters of remonstrance?
All across the realm, spring wind stirred the cutting of court brocades:
Half became horse blankets, and half became sails.

Li Shangyin — The Jasper Pool
By the Jasper Pool, the Queen Mother opened her patterned windows;
The song of “Yellow Bamboo” shook the earth with grief.
The eight steeds can run thirty thousand miles in a day:
Why, then, has King Mu never come back?

Li Shangyin — Chang'e
Candle shadows deepen against the mica screen;
The Milky Way sinks slowly, and dawn stars fade.
Chang'e must regret stealing the elixir:
Blue sea and blue sky, in her heart night after night.

Li Shangyin — Night Rain, Sent North
You ask when I will return; there is no date yet.
Night rain in the Ba Mountains swells the autumn pools.
When will we trim the candle together beside the western window
And talk about this night of rain in the Ba Mountains?

Li Shangyin — Sent to Secretary Linghu
Mount Song's clouds and Qin's trees have long stood between our homes;
From far away your letter came, a single page between two paper carp.
Do not ask about the old guest of Liang Garden:
In autumn rain at Maoling, Sima Xiangru lies ill.

Li Shangyin — Because
Because she has endless charm behind her cloudlike screen,
As the cold leaves Phoenix City she dreads the spring night.
Without reason she married a husband with a golden turtle badge
And lost their hours beneath the fragrant quilt to his early court duties.

Du Fu — Meeting Li Guinian South of the Yangzi
Often I saw you at Prince Qi's house; many times I heard you sing in Cui Nine's hall.
And now, amid the beautiful scenes south of the Yangzi, I meet you again as flowers fall.

Du Mu — Parting Gift, First Poem
Graceful and slender, a little over thirteen;
Like cardamom just budding at the start of the second month.
Along ten miles of Yangzhou road in spring wind,
No girl behind the lifted pearl curtains can compare.

Du Mu — Parting Gift, Second Poem
Too deep a feeling seems almost like no feeling at all;
Before the wine cup I cannot even bring myself to smile.
The candle has a heart and grieves at parting too:
In our place it weeps till daybreak.

Du Mu — Golden Valley Garden
The splendor of that age has scattered with the fragrant dust;
Water flows without feeling, and grass turns green each spring.
At dusk birds cry their grievances into the east wind;
A falling blossom still resembles the woman who leaped from the tower.

Du Mu — Sent to Magistrate Han Chuo in Yangzhou
Blue hills rise faintly, waters wind far away;
In the south, autumn is over but the grass has not yet withered.
On a moonlit night at the Twenty-Four Bridges,
Where do you, lovely friend, teach someone to play the flute?

Du Mu — Recollections
I wandered dissolute beside rivers and lakes, carrying wine,
Among slender-waisted dancers so light they could dance upon a palm.
Ten years in Yangzhou seem one waking dream;
All I have gained is a name for faithlessness in the pleasure houses.

Du Mu — Autumn Evening
Silver candles cast autumn light, cooling the painted screen;
With a little silk fan she swats at fireflies in flight.
Palace steps grow cool as water in the night;
She lies watching the stars of the Oxherd and Weaver Girl.

Du Mu — Climbing Leyou Plain before Departing for Wuxing
In times of peace, it is a pleasure to be without ability; at leisure I love lone clouds, and in stillness, monks.
Soon I will take a governor's banner down toward rivers and sea; from Leyou Plain I look toward Zhaoling's tomb.

Du Mu — Red Cliffs
A broken halberd buried in sand, its iron not yet rusted; I polish and wash it myself and recognize its former age.
If the east wind had not aided young Zhou, deep spring in Bronze Sparrow Tower would have confined the two Qiao sisters.

Du Mu — Moored on the Qinhuai
Mist veils cold water and moonlight veils sand; at night I moor on the Qinhuai near a tavern.
The singing girls do not know the grief of a lost kingdom; across the river they still sing “Flowers in the Rear Court.”

Liu Zhongyong — A Soldier's Lament
Year after year, Gold River and then the Jade Pass;
Morning after morning, horsewhip and sword ring.
In the three months of spring, white snow returns to the Green Mound;
For ten thousand miles the Yellow River winds around Black Mountain.

Wei Zhuang — A Painting of Jinling
Who says an aching heart cannot be painted?
The painter's heart follows the feelings of his age.
Look at these six scenes from the southern dynasties:
Old trees and cold clouds cover the abandoned city.

Wei Yingwu — West Brook at Chuzhou
I love the secluded grass that grows beside the brook; high above, orioles sing deep within the trees.
Spring flood and evening rain swell the current; at the deserted crossing, an unmanned boat lies askew.

Zhang Xu — Peach Blossom Creek
A high bridge shows dimly beyond the countryside's mist; west of the rocky shore I call to a fishing boat.
Peach blossoms float down the water all day: where beside this clear creek lies the cave?

Zhang Bi — Sent to Someone
My dream of parting traveled tenderly to your home, through little corridors turning beside slanting railings.
Only the moon in the spring courtyard remains faithful: it still shines on the falling flowers for those apart.

Zhang Hu — Inscribed at Jinling Ferry
At Jinling Ferry a little tower stands on the hill;
One night there is enough to fill a traveler with sorrow.
At low tide, in the slanting moonlight over the night river,
Two or three distant lights mark Guazhou.

Zhang Hu — To a Palace Woman
The moon's trace crosses palace trees beyond the forbidden gates; her bright eyes follow only the egrets' roost.
She pulls out her jade hairpin beside the lamplight and frees a moth caught in the red flame.

Zhang Hu — Terrace of Gathered Spirits, First Poem
Sunlight slants across the Terrace of Gathered Spirits; red tree blossoms open to the dawn dew.
Last night the retired emperor received a new Daoist register; Taizhen came smiling through the curtain.

Zhang Hu — Terrace of Gathered Spirits, Second Poem
Lady Guo has won the sovereign's favor;
At daybreak she rides her horse through the palace gate.
Disliking powder and rouge for hiding her face,
She paints her brows lightly before greeting His Majesty.

Zhang Ji — Moored at Night by Maple Bridge
The moon has set, crows call, frost fills the sky; riverside maples and fishing fires face my sleepless grief.
Beyond the walls of Gusu stands Cold Mountain Temple; at midnight its bells reach my traveler's boat.

Chen Tao — Song of Longxi
Sworn to sweep away the Xiongnu, heedless of their lives, five thousand silk-clad warriors perished in nomad dust.
How pitiful the bones beside the Wuding River: in their wives' deepest dreams they are still alive.

Anonymous — Miscellaneous Poem
As Cold Food rain comes to an end the grasses grow thick; wind crosses the wheat shoots, willows shade the dike.
I too have a home and cannot return; cuckoo, do not sing so close to my ear.

He Zhizhang — On Returning Home, Written by Chance
I left home when young and return an old man; my native accent remains, though the hair at my temples is thin.
Children meet me but do not know me; laughing, they ask where this visitor has come from.

Wen Tingyun — Lament of the Jasper Zither
On a cool bamboo mat by the silver bed, sleep will not come; the blue sky is clear as water, clouds light in the night.
The calls of geese pass far toward the Xiao and Xiang; among twelve towers the moon shines on alone.

Liu Fangping — Moonlit Night
Deep in the night, moonlight touches half the houses;
The Northern Dipper spans the sky, the Southern Dipper tilts.
Tonight I feel the warmth of spring more keenly:
New insect voices pass through the green window gauze.

Liu Fangping — Spring Lament
Sunlight fades beyond the gauze window into dusk; in the golden house no one sees her tear marks.
Spring grows late in the lonely empty courtyard; pear blossoms cover the earth, and the gate stays closed.

Liu Yuxi — Black-Robed Lane
Wild grasses flower beside Vermilion Bird Bridge;
At the mouth of Black-Robed Lane the evening sun slopes low.
Swallows that once nested before the halls of Wang and Xie
Now fly into the homes of ordinary people.

Liu Yuxi — Spring Song
Freshly adorned to suit her face, she descends the crimson tower;
The courtyard locks in all the spring, and all her grief.
Walking to its heart, she counts the flower blossoms;
A dragonfly settles on her jade hairpin.

Zheng Tian — Mawei Slope
Xuanzong turned his horse and Consort Yang died;
He could not forget their love, though a new reign began.
At least he acted as an enlightened sovereign should:
Who could say that of the man in Jingyang Palace well?

Han Hong — Cold Food Festival
Flowers fly everywhere in the city in spring; at Cold Food, east wind bends the palace willows.
At dusk candles are passed through the Han palace; thin smoke drifts into the homes of the five marquises.

Han Wo — Already Cool
Beyond green balustrades embroidered curtains hang; a scarlet screen bears paintings of flowering boughs.
A brocade mat eight feet long, woven with dragon's-whisker grass: the weather has cooled, though it is not yet cold.

Gu Kuang — Palace Song
From a jade tower halfway to heaven rise songs and reed pipes; wind carries laughter and voices of the palace women.
Shadows part in the moonlit hall as the night clock sounds; crystal curtains roll up near the Milky Way.

## Translation — Mouseia

> Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the classical Chinese, covering the compiler’s preface and all 321 poems in the seven form sections.

### The Compiler’s Preface

When children begin school, they are usually given A Thousand Family Poems, because it is easy to memorize. That is why it has remained in use. But its poems were gathered haphazardly, with no distinction between good and bad. It includes only the two forms of regulated verse and short verse in five- and seven-character lines, and mixes Tang and Song poets together. This seriously fails to follow a consistent plan. So I chose only widely loved Tang poems, selecting the most important ones. I found several dozen of each form, more than three hundred in all, and put them in one collection as a textbook for home schools. If children learn them, they will still value them when their hair turns white. Isn't this much better than A Thousand Family Poems? A saying goes: “Read three hundred Tang poems well, and even if you can't write poetry, you can recite it.” Try this collection and see.

### Five-Character Old-Style Poems

Yuan Jie — To the Officials after the Rebels Left
In past years, during peace, I spent twenty years among the hills and woods.
A spring ran through my yard; ravines opened before my door.
The land tax had a fixed date; I could still sleep late.
Then the world suddenly changed, and for years I lived close to war banners.
Now that I govern this district, mountain rebels are in turmoil again.
They spared this small town, pitying its poor people.
So they invaded neighboring districts, while this prefecture alone stayed safe.
The emperor's envoys come with orders. Surely they shouldn't be worse than rebels.
Those who collect their taxes press the people as if scorching them in fire.
Who can destroy people's lives just to count as a capable official today?
I want to lay down my seal of office, take up a pole and push my own boat,
Bring my family where there are fish and grain, and grow old beside the rivers and lakes.

Wang Changling — Watching the Moon in the South Study with My Cousin and Thinking of Cui, Magistrate of Shanyin
As I lay at ease in the south study, I opened the curtain; the moon had just risen.
Its clear light spread over water and trees and shimmered at the window.
Slowly it has grown full and waned so many times; its clear light has watched times change.
My fine friend is by the clear river, singing sadly tonight in the Yue country.
What can I do about the thousand miles between us? A light wind blows through orchids and sweet herbs.

Wang Wei — Sending Qiwu Qian Home after He Failed the Examination
In this enlightened age there are no recluses; talented people have all come to serve.
Even those who lived in the eastern hills cannot go back to picking wild greens.
Having traveled so far to the ruler's gate, who can say our course was wrong?
You'll cross the Yangzi and Huai at the Cold Food festival; in the capital they sew spring clothes.
We set out wine beside the long road; my dear friend is leaving me.
Soon you'll float along in a boat of fragrant wood and brush against your brushwood gate.
Distant trees frame the traveler; a lonely village faces the setting sun.
My plans simply weren't used. Don't say that no one understands your talent.

Wang Wei — Farewell
I got off my horse and offered you wine, then asked where you were going.
You said things had gone badly, and you were going to rest beside the southern mountains.
Just go; I won't ask you more. The white clouds will go on forever.

Wang Wei — Clear Creek
When I enter Yellow Flower Valley, I always follow Clear Creek.
It bends countless times with the mountains, though the route is less than a hundred miles.
Its sound is loud among the rocks, its color still under the deep pines.
Its ripples carry water plants; its clear water reflects the reeds.
My mind has always been at rest, as calm as this clear stream.
Let me stay on a flat rock and fish for the rest of my life.

Wang Wei — Farmhouses by the Wei River
The slanting sun shines on the village; cattle and sheep return down the long lane.
An old farmer thinks of the herdboy and waits by his brushwood gate, leaning on a staff.
Pheasants call among the young wheat; silkworms sleep, and mulberry leaves grow sparse.
Farmers arrive carrying their hoes; when they meet, they talk fondly together.
I envy their unhurried lives, and sadly sing a song about going home.

Wang Wei — On Xi Shi
The whole world values beauty. How could Xi Shi stay obscure for long?
In the morning she was a girl by a stream in Yue; by evening, a consort in the palace of Wu.
When she was poor, she seemed no different from others; only when honored was she recognized as rare.
She has others put scented powder on her and does not put on her own silk clothes.
The ruler's favor makes her more coquettish; with his love, no one judges right or wrong.
The women who washed silk with her then could not ride home in her carriage.
Let me tell the neighbor girl: you can't hope for the same by copying Xi Shi's frown.

Cen Shen — Climbing the Ci'en Temple Pagoda with Gao Shi and Xue Ju
The tower seems to surge from the ground, rising alone toward the sky.
Climbing it takes us above the world; its steps wind through the empty air.
It looms over the whole country, so steep it seems the work of spirits.
Its four corners block the sun; its seven stories brush the sky.
Looking down, we point at birds flying high; bending over, we hear the fierce wind.
The linked mountains look like waves, rushing together as though flowing east.
Green locust trees line the broad road; how intricate the palace buildings look.
Autumn colors come from the west, spreading their dark green across the region.
On the northern plain lie the five imperial tombs, dim and green through countless years.
Here I can understand the teachings of purity, the better cause I have always followed.
I vow to resign my post; the path to awakening offers endless help.

Li Bai — Coming Down Mount Zhongnan, Staying and Drinking with the Recluse Husi
At dusk I came down the green mountain; the mountain moon followed me home.
I looked back at the path I came by; green hills stretched across the fading light.
We went together to a farmhouse, where children opened the brushwood gate.
Green bamboo reached into the secluded path; vines brushed against my clothes.
We talked happily, glad to have a place to rest, and shared fine wine.
I sang a long song of the wind in the pines; when it ended, few stars remained over the river.
I was drunk and you were happy; together we forgot our worldly concerns.

Li Bai — Drinking Alone under the Moon
Among flowers I have a jar of wine; I drink alone, with no one close to me.
I raise my cup and invite the bright moon; with my shadow, we make three.
The moon knows nothing about drinking; my shadow merely follows my body.
For now I'll keep company with moon and shadow; I must enjoy myself while spring is here.
When I sing, the moon wanders; when I dance, my shadow scatters.
While sober we share our fun; after I'm drunk, we each go our own way.
Let us always wander together without worldly ties, and meet far away in the Milky Way.

Li Bai — Thoughts in Spring
In Yan, the grass is like green threads; in Qin, the mulberry branches hang low and green.
When you begin thinking of coming home, my heart is already breaking.
Spring wind, you don't know me. Why do you come into my silk bed curtains?

Du Fu — Looking at Mount Tai
What is mighty Mount Tai like? Its green stretches endlessly across Qi and Lu.
Nature has gathered wonderful beauty there; its sunny and shady slopes divide dawn from dusk.
Layers of clouds rise and stir my heart; my eyes strain to follow the birds flying home.
One day I will reach its highest summit and see how small the other mountains are.

Du Fu — For My Friend Wei Ba, Who Lives Outside Official Life
People rarely see each other; we move apart like the stars Shen and Shang.
What kind of night is this, that we share the light of the same lamp again?
How long does youth last? Both our temples have already turned gray.
I ask about old friends; half are dead. I cry out in shock, my heart burning.
Who could have known that after twenty years I would enter your home again?
When we parted, you weren't married; now suddenly your children stand in a row.
They cheerfully greet their father's old friend and ask where I have come from.
Before we finish answering, you send the children to set out wine and food.
They cut spring chives in the night rain and mix yellow millet with freshly cooked rice.
You say meetings are rare and raise your cup ten times in a row.
Even ten cups cannot make me drunk; your old friendship means too much to me.
Tomorrow mountains will separate us; neither of us knows what life will bring.

Du Fu — A Beautiful Woman
A woman of rare beauty lives alone in an empty valley.
She says she comes from a good family but has fallen so low she lives among the trees.
When war broke out in the central region, her brothers were killed.
What did their high offices matter? She could not even bury their bodies.
People turn away from those who fall in fortune; everything changes like a flame in the wind.
Her husband was an unfaithful man, and his new wife is as beautiful as jade.
Even the evening flowers know when to close; mandarin ducks don't sleep alone.
He sees only the new wife's smile; he never hears the former wife cry.
The spring water is clear in the mountains and muddy when it leaves them.
Her maid returns from selling pearls; she pulls vines to repair the thatched roof.
She picks flowers but does not wear them in her hair; she gathers cypress leaves by the handful.
The weather is cold and her green sleeves are thin; at dusk she leans against tall bamboo.

Du Fu — Dreaming of Li Bai, First Poem
I have stifled my cries at parting from the dead; parting from the living always hurts.
The south of the river is a place of deadly illness; there is no news of my exiled friend.
My old friend enters my dreams, showing that I think of him constantly.
I fear it may not be his living spirit; his distant route is impossible to know.
His spirit comes through green maple leaves and returns through dark mountain passes.
You are trapped in a net now. How could you have wings to come here?
The setting moon fills my roof beams with light; I still think it lights up your face.
The waters are deep and their waves wide; don't let the river dragons catch you.

Du Fu — Dreaming of Li Bai, Second Poem
Clouds drift all day; the traveler has not arrived for so long.
For three nights I have dreamed of you again and again, and seen how much you care.
When you say goodbye in the dream, you are always anxious and say how hard it is to come.
There are storms on the rivers and lakes; you fear your boat may go under.
You go out the door, scratching your white hair, as if you had failed your lifelong hopes.
Officials fill the capital with their carriages, but you alone have been worn down.
Who says heaven's net is wide? As you grow old, it traps you instead.
Your fame will last for a thousand years, but that means nothing to you after death.

Meng Haoran — Climbing Mount Lan in Autumn, for Zhang Wu
Among the white clouds on the northern mountain, a hermit enjoys his solitude.
I climb to look toward you; my thoughts fly away with the birds until they vanish.
Sadness rises with the dusk, and clear autumn lifts my spirits.
Now and then I see people returning to the village, walking on the sand and resting by the ferry.
At the horizon, trees look as small as shepherd's purse; boats on the river look like moons.
When will you bring wine here, so we can get drunk together on the Double Ninth festival?

Meng Haoran — Thinking of Xin Da at the South Pavilion on a Summer Day
The mountain light suddenly sets in the west; the moon over the pond gradually rises in the east. I loosen my hair in the cool evening and open the window to lie in the airy room.
The lotus breeze brings a scent; dew on the bamboo drips with a clear sound. I want to take up my zither and play, but there is no friend here to appreciate it.
Thinking of this, I miss my old friend; in the middle of the night my dreams keep turning to him.

Meng Haoran — Staying at Master Ye's Mountain House, Waiting in Vain for Ding Da
The sun passes beyond the western ridge; all the valleys suddenly grow dark.
The moon through the pines brings the night's coolness; wind and springs fill my ears with clear sounds.
The last woodcutters are heading home; birds have just settled in the smoky dusk.
You had promised to come and stay; my lone zither waits beside the vine-covered path.

Qiu Wei — Seeking the Hermit of the Western Mountain and Not Finding Him
There is a thatched hut on the very top; the climb is thirty miles straight up.
I knock at the gate; no servant answers. I peer inside and see only a table.
If he has not gone out with his carriage, he must be fishing in the autumn waters.
We have missed each other; for nothing I have made the effort to seek him out.
Grass is green after the new rain; pines sound outside the window at dusk.
Having found this quiet place, I feel it is enough to refresh my mind and senses.
Though I cannot enjoy his hospitality, I have found some peace and quiet.
Only when I have had my fill do I go down the mountain. Why wait for him?

Liu Zongyuan — Reading Buddhist Scriptures at Master Chao's Temple in the Morning
I draw well water and rinse my cold teeth; I clear my mind and brush the dust off my clothes.
At ease I take a book on palm leaves and go outside the eastern room to read.
The true source has nothing to take from it; the world chases false traces.
Can I understand the teachings left behind? How can I bring my nature to maturity?
The Buddhist's courtyard is quiet; the green moss runs into deep bamboo.
When the sun rises, mist and dew remain; the green pines look freshly washed.
Calm and beyond words, I understand and feel satisfied in my heart.

Liu Zongyuan — Living by the Stream
I was long tied down by official duties; luckily, I was exiled here among the southern peoples.
At ease I live beside farmers and gardeners, almost like a visitor to the mountains and woods.
At dawn I plow and turn the dewy grass; at night my oar strikes stones in the stream.
I meet no one going back and forth; I sing loudly under the blue southern sky.

Wei Yingwu — Gathering with Scholars in My Office During the Rain
Guards stand with their decorated spears; clean incense fills my private rooms.
Wind and rain come from the sea; I enjoy the coolness of the pavilion by the pond.
My troublesome illness has nearly gone, and fine guests fill the hall again.
I am ashamed of my high position while I have not seen the people prosper.
When we understand what is right and wrong, we let disputes go; when we are at ease, we forget outward appearances.
There are seasonal rules against fresh meat and rich food; luckily, we can eat vegetables and fruit.
I bend to drink a cup of wine and lift my head to hear your fine writing.
My spirit is glad and my body feels light; I wish I could fly with the wind.
The Wu region is rich in literature and history; today its many talents are gathered here.
Now I know a great province is not just a place rich in taxes and wealth.

Wei Yingwu — Setting Out from Yangzi and Writing to Yuan, the Senior Editor
Sadly I leave those I love and drift into the mist.
The rowers returning to Luoyang disappear, while the last bells sound among Guangling's trees.
We part this morning; where will we meet again?
Life is a boat on the waves; how can it stay still whether it goes with or against the current?

Wei Yingwu — To a Daoist in the Quanjiao Mountains
My government office is cold this morning; suddenly I think of my guest in the mountains.
He gathers firewood at the bottom of a ravine and comes home to cook white stones.
I want to bring him a gourd of wine to comfort him on a windy, rainy evening.
Fallen leaves cover the empty mountain. Where could I find his tracks?

Wei Yingwu — Meeting Feng Zhu in Chang'an
A visitor comes from the east, with rain from Baling on his clothes.
I ask him why he has come; he says he went into the hills to buy an ax.
In the dim light flowers are opening; swallows are feeding their new young.
We parted only yesterday, it seems, but spring is here; how many gray hairs have you grown?

Wei Yingwu — Stopping at Xuyi County at Dusk
I lower my sail and pause at the town on the Huai; I moor the boat by a lonely inn.
A strong wind raises broad waves; the dim sun sinks at dusk.
People return to the dark town by the hills; geese land on the pale reed-covered island.
Alone at night I think of the passes near Qin; I listen to the bell and cannot sleep.

Wei Yingwu — East of Town
I have been confined to the office all year; at dawn I go out to the open countryside.
Willows spread in the gentle wind; green mountains quiet my worries.
I rest beside a thicket, then follow the stream onward.
Fine rain mists over the fragrant fields; where is that spring dove calling?
My love of quiet makes me want to stop again and again, but my work keeps me hurrying on.
One day I will give it up and build a hut here; then I may truly live like Tao Yuanming.

Wei Yingwu — Sending Off My Daughter, Married into the Yang Family
All day I have been sad; when I go outside, the road stretches far away.
My daughter is leaving now, taking a light boat upstream on the great river.
You sisters have suffered without a mother; the more I think of you, the more tenderly I care.
The older raised the younger; now the two part and cannot stop crying.
Seeing this ties my heart in knots, but duty calls her away and I cannot keep her.
Since childhood she has lacked a mother's teaching; I worry about how she will serve her husband's mother.
Luckily, she is joining a good family; I hope their kindness will spare her blame.
We have always valued a poor, thrifty life; her gifts for the journey need not be lavish.
Be dutiful and respectful as a wife, and let your behavior follow their ways.
We part this morning. What autumn will bring me the sight of you again?
When alone, I can usually console myself; faced with this parting, I cannot control my feelings.
I return and look at my younger daughter; tears fall along the strings of my hat.

Chang Jian — Staying at Wang Changling's Retreat
The clear stream is too deep to measure; only a lone cloud hangs above the retreat.
A faint moon appears between the pines; its clear light is still here for you.
The thatched pavilion rests among flower shadows; moss grows in patterns in the herb garden.
I too will leave the world behind and join the phoenixes and cranes in the western hills.

Zhang Jiuling — Thoughts on Experience, First Poem
A lone wild goose comes in from the sea and does not dare look at the small pond.
To one side it sees two green birds nesting in a tree with three pearls.
They stand high on that precious tree; shouldn't they fear a hunter's gold pellets?
Fine clothes draw people's attention, and a high position stirs the anger of spirits.
Now I fly far up into the darkness; what could an archer hope to gain from me?

Zhang Jiuling — Thoughts on Experience, Second Poem
Orchid leaves grow thick in spring; cinnamon flowers shine bright in autumn.
Full of life, each makes its own season beautiful.
Who knows when someone living in the woods will catch their scent and be delighted?
Plants have their own nature; why would they need a beautiful person to pick them?

Zhang Jiuling — Thoughts on Experience, Third Poem
I return to the deep woods to lie alone; in this empty waiting I cleanse my solitary mind.
I take this message to the bird above, to send my feelings far away.
All day I hold on to an empty hope; who can sense such complete sincerity?
Those who fly and those who sink are separated by nature. What can comfort my faithful heart?

Zhang Jiuling — Thoughts on Experience, Fourth Poem
In the south by the river grows a red orange tree, still green through winter.
Is that only because the climate is warm? It has its own strength in the cold.
Its fruit could be offered to honored guests, but deep distances stand in the way.
Fate depends on what we encounter; its turning cannot be predicted.
People speak only of planting peaches and plums. Doesn't this tree give shade too?

Qiwu Qian — Boating on Ruoye Creek in Spring
My wish for quiet never ends; I go wherever chance takes me.
The evening wind carries my boat along a path of flowers into the mouth of the creek.
As night comes, I turn into the western valley and see the Southern Dipper beyond the hills.
Mist floats gently over the pool; the moon above the trees falls behind me.
Life's affairs can wait and remain unsettled; I would like to be an old man holding a fishing rod.

### Seven-Character Old-Style Poems

Yuan Jie — Drinking Song on Stone Fish Lake, with Preface
Stone Fish Lake looks like Dongting Lake; summer waters rise almost to the green slopes of Junshan.
Mountains make our wine cups, water makes the pool; drinkers sit scattered across the islands.
For days a strong wind has raised great waves, but it cannot stop people bringing wine by boat.
I sit on Ba Hill holding a long ladle, pouring wine for everyone to drive away their worries.

Bai Juyi — Song of Lasting Sorrow
The emperor of Han loved beauty and sought a woman who could captivate a whole country; for years on the throne, he could not find her.
A daughter of the Yang family had just grown up; sheltered deep inside her rooms, she was unknown to others.
A beauty like hers could not be hidden away, and one day she was chosen to stand beside the ruler.
One backward glance and smile brought countless charms; every other woman in the palace seemed plain.
In the chill of spring, he let her bathe in the pool at Huaqing; warm spring water flowed over her smooth skin.
Attendants helped her up, too lovely and weak to stand: this was when she first received his favor.
Her hair was like clouds, her face like a flower, with gold ornaments that swung as she walked; they passed spring nights in the warmth of the lotus curtains.
The spring nights seemed too short, and the sun was high before they rose; from then on the ruler did not hold court early in the morning.
She attended his feasts and shared his pleasures without a moment free; all spring she accompanied him on outings, and every night she was with him.
There were three thousand beautiful women in his palace, but all the affection meant for three thousand fell on her alone.
She dressed in the golden rooms to wait on him at night; after feasts in jade halls, she was drunk with him and the spring air.
Her brothers and sisters all received titles and lands, raising the standing of the whole family.
So parents throughout the world came to value daughters more than sons.
High on Mount Li the palace reached into blue clouds; heavenly music drifted on the wind and could be heard everywhere.
Soft songs and slow dances held the music of strings and flutes; all day the emperor could not see enough of them.
Then war drums sounded from Yuyang and shook the earth, interrupting the song of Rainbow Skirts and Feathered Coats.
Dust and smoke rose around the many palace gates; a thousand carriages and ten thousand horsemen fled southwest.
The imperial green banners swayed as the procession stopped and started; they had gone more than a hundred miles west of the capital gate.
His six armies refused to go on, and he could do nothing; his beautiful consort died before his horse.
Her flower ornaments fell to the ground, and no one picked up the green hairpin, gold bird or jade hair ornament.
The emperor covered his face, unable to save her; looking back, he shed tears mixed with blood.
Yellow dust spread under a bleak wind; the plank road through the clouds twisted up to Sword Gate.
Few people traveled below Mount Emei; the banners lost their color, and the sun gave little light.
The rivers of Shu were blue and its mountains green, but the ruler longed for her every morning and evening.
At his temporary palace, the moon was painful to see; at night rain sounded on bells and broke his heart.
When the world changed and the imperial carriage came back, he stopped here, unable to move on.
In the earth beneath Mawei Slope he could not see her face, only the place where she had died.
Ruler and ministers looked at each other, their clothes wet with tears; facing east toward the capital, they let their horses carry them home.
When he returned, the ponds and gardens were just as before, with lotuses on Taiye Lake and willows at Weiyang Palace.
The lotuses looked like her face, the willows like her eyebrows; how could he look at them without crying?
Spring winds brought nights of peach and plum blossoms; autumn rain brought falling plane-tree leaves.
Autumn weeds filled the western palace and southern garden; red leaves covered the steps and no one swept them away.
The young performers of the Pear Garden had grown white-haired; even the older palace attendants had gray hair now.
Fireflies flew through the evening hall while he thought of her in silence; he trimmed the solitary lamp but could not sleep.
Bells and drums slowly marked the beginning of another long night; the bright Milky Way told him dawn was near.
Frost lay thick on the cold tiles patterned with mandarin ducks; who would share the cold kingfisher quilt with him?
For years life and death had separated them, and her spirit had never come to him in a dream.
A Daoist from Linqiong visiting the capital could use his powers of concentration to summon spirits.
Moved by the ruler's constant yearning, he made the adept search carefully for her.
He rushed through the sky on the wind like lightning, searching everywhere above the heavens and below the earth.
He went to the farthest blue skies and the deepest world of the dead; in neither vast place could she be found.
Then he heard of an immortal mountain out at sea, floating dimly in empty space.
Fine towers rose among five-colored clouds, and many graceful immortals lived there.
Among them was one called Taizhen, with skin like snow and the face of a flower; she seemed to be the one.
At the western door of the golden towers he knocked at a jade gate and asked Xiaoyu to tell Shuangcheng.
Hearing that a messenger from the Han emperor had come, she woke with a start behind her flowered curtains.
She caught up her clothes, pushed away the pillow, got up and paced about; beaded curtains and silver screens opened one after another.
Her cloudlike hair was askew from sleep; she came out with her flower crown out of place.
The wind lifted her immortal sleeves, as if she were still dancing Rainbow Skirts and Feathered Coats.
Her jade-like face looked lonely, with tears running down it like spring rain on a pear blossom.
Looking toward him tenderly, she thanked the emperor: since parting, they could neither see nor hear each other.
Love had ended in the hall at Zhaoyang, while days and months went on and on in the palace at Penglai.
She turned to look down at the human world; she saw no Chang'an, only dust and mist.
She could send back only old belongings to show her deep love: a jeweled box and gold hairpin.
She kept one half of the hairpin and one side of the box; she split the gold pin and divided the ornament on the box.
“If our hearts stay as firm as this gold and these jewels, we will meet again in heaven or on earth.”
As they parted, she carefully sent another message, containing a vow known only to the two of them.
“On the seventh night of the seventh month, in the Palace of Long Life, when no one was there, we spoke in private at midnight.
We wished to be two birds flying wing to wing in the sky, or two trees growing together on earth.”
Even the long-lasting heavens and earth will one day end; this sorrow continues without end.

Bai Juyi — Song of the Pipa, with Preface
In the tenth year of Yuanhe I was demoted to the post of marshal of Jiujiang. In the autumn of the next year, as I saw a guest off at the mouth of the Pen River, I heard someone playing a pipa at night in a boat. It had the clear sound of music from the capital. I asked who the player was. She had been a singing girl in Chang'an, had studied the pipa with the masters Mu and Cao, and, when she grew older and lost her beauty, had married a merchant. I ordered wine and asked her to play several pieces freely. When she finished, she fell silent and sad. She told us of the pleasures of her youth and of how she had since grown worn down, drifting among the rivers and lakes. I had lived quietly and without complaint during the two years since I was sent out of the capital. Her story made me feel my exile for the first time that night. So I wrote a song in long lines for her, six hundred and sixteen characters in all, and called it “Song of the Pipa.”
At night by the Xunyang River I saw a guest off; maple leaves and reed flowers rustled in the autumn air.
I got off my horse while the guest boarded the boat; we raised wine to drink, but there were no strings or flutes.
We were too sad to enjoy our drink and were about to part; at our farewell the broad river held the moon.
Suddenly we heard a pipa on the water; I forgot to go home, and the guest did not leave.
Following the sound, we quietly asked who played; the pipa stopped, and the player was slow to answer.
We brought our boats close and invited her to meet us; we brought more wine, turned up the lamps and began the feast again.
Only after we called again and again did she come out, still holding her pipa to hide half her face.
She turned the pegs and plucked the strings a few times; before the tune began, we heard feeling in it.
Each string sounded low and restrained, each note full of thought, as though she were telling us of a life that had not gone well.
She looked down and played without pause, pouring out all the things she held in her heart.
She touched and rolled the strings, brushed and plucked them; first she played Rainbow Skirts, then Green Waist.
The thick strings sounded loudly like fast rain; the thin strings whispered like private talk.
Loud and soft notes mixed together like great and small pearls falling on a jade plate.
An oriole's song flowed under the flowers; a hidden spring struggled to run beneath ice.
The cold, blocked spring slowed, and the strings seemed to stop; for a moment the sound fell silent.
A deep sorrow and hidden regret arose; just then the silence expressed more than sound.
Then it was like a silver jar breaking and water pouring out, like armed horsemen charging as weapons clashed.
At the end she drew the plectrum across the strings at the center; all four strings sounded as one, like silk tearing.
There was no sound from the boats to east or west; only the white autumn moon shone in the river's center.
She paused, put the plectrum among the strings, adjusted her clothes and rose with a serious face.
She said she had once been a girl in the capital and lived below Toad Hill.
She mastered the pipa at thirteen and was enrolled in the first division of the music school.
When she finished playing, even masters yielded to her; when she made herself up, other performers envied her.
Young men from the Five Tombs competed to give her gifts of silk; for one song she received countless rolls of red gauze.
She broke a jeweled comb beating time and spilled wine over her red silk skirt.
Year followed year with laughter, as she spent autumn moons and spring winds without a thought.
Her younger brother joined the army, her guardian died; as days passed, her beauty faded.
Horses and carriages stopped coming to her door; growing older, she married a merchant.
Merchants care about profit more than parting; last month he went to Fuliang to buy tea.
Since he left, she has guarded the empty boat at the river mouth; moonlight surrounds it, and the river water is cold.
Late at night she suddenly dreams of her youth; waking in tears, she sees makeup running red down her cheeks.
Hearing her pipa I had already sighed; hearing her story, I sighed even more.
“We are both people brought low far from home; why should we need to have known each other to meet?”
Since I left the imperial capital last year, I have lived in exile, often ill, in Xunyang.
The place is remote, without music; for a whole year I had not heard strings or flutes.
I live in the damp low ground beside the Pen River, with yellow reeds and bitter bamboo around the house.
What do I hear there morning and evening? Cuckoos crying as if bleeding and monkeys calling sadly.
On spring mornings with flowers, or autumn nights with moonlight, I often take wine and drink by myself.
There are mountain songs and village flutes, but their harsh, broken sound is hard to listen to.
Tonight your pipa seemed to speak; it was like hearing heavenly music, and my ears felt clear again.
Please sit down and play one more piece; for you I will write this Song of the Pipa.
Moved by my words, she stood for a long time, then sat again and tightened her strings, playing faster.
The sad music was unlike what she had played before; everyone listening wept again.
Who cried the most among us? The marshal of Jiujiang, with his blue robe soaked through.

Cen Shen — Song of the Galloping Horse River, Seeing Commander Feng Off on His Western Campaign
Don't you see the Galloping Horse River beside the sea of snow, with yellow sand stretching up to the sky?
At Luntai the wind roars at night in the ninth month; stones as large as buckets are blown all over the riverbed.
The grass has turned yellow and the Xiongnu horses are well fed; west of the Golden Mountains we see dust rise.
The Han general marches west; he does not take off his gold armor at night.
At midnight the soldiers march, their spears striking each other; the wind cuts their faces like a knife.
Snow gathers on the horses' coats and their sweat gives off steam; their patterned hair quickly freezes over.
In the tent, water for ink freezes as the dispatch is written; enemy riders who hear of this must be terrified.
Surely they won't dare fight at close quarters; I wait at Jushi's western gate for news of victory.

Cen Shen — Song of Luntai, Seeing Commander Feng Off on His Western Campaign
At night horns sound above Luntai's wall; north of the city the enemy's star sinks.
An urgent military letter passed Quli last night: the northern chieftain is already west of the Golden Mountains.
Looking west from the watchtower, I see black dust; Han troops are massed north of Luntai.
The chief general carries his banner west to war; at dawn flutes play as the great army marches.
Drums beat all around like the snow sea surging; the three armies shout and shake the Yin Mountains.
The enemy's defenses gather like clouds; bones on the battlefield are tangled in grass roots.
Strong wind blows broad snowflakes over Sword River; at the sandy pass, frozen stones break horses' hooves.
Serving the ruler, our deputy minister willingly bears hardship and vows to end the fighting on the border.
Who has not read the histories of earlier days? Today we will see greater achievement than theirs.

Cen Shen — Song of White Snow, Seeing Official Wu Off to the Capital
The north wind sweeps the ground and breaks the dry white grass; in these northern lands snow falls as early as the eighth month.
Suddenly it looks as if spring wind came overnight and opened pear blossoms on a thousand trees.
Snow blows past beaded curtains and wets silk screens; fox fur cannot keep us warm, and the brocade quilt is too thin.
The general cannot draw his horn bow; the governor finds his iron armor too cold to put on.
Across the wide desert ice stretches in ridges a hundred feet high; dark, sad clouds gather over ten thousand miles.
At the central camp, we serve wine to the guest going home, with northern fiddles, pipas and Qiang flutes.
Snow keeps falling on the camp gate at dusk; the wind pulls at the red flag, but it is frozen and cannot move.
I see you off at Luntai's east gate; snow covers the road through the Tianshan Mountains as you go.
The mountain path turns and you disappear; only your horse's tracks remain in the snow.

Li Bai — Song of Mount Lu, to Censor Lu Xuzhou
I am the madman of Chu, who sang a phoenix song to laugh at Confucius.
With a green jade staff in my hand, I left Yellow Crane Tower in the morning.
I don't mind traveling far in search of immortals among the five great mountains; all my life I've loved visiting famous mountains.
Mount Lu rises beautifully beside the Southern Dipper; nine folds spread like a screen of cloud-brocade, casting dark blue reflections on the clear lake.
Two long peaks stand before a golden gate; the Milky Way seems to hang upside down over three stone bridges.
The waterfall of Incense Burner Peak is visible in the distance; cliffs bend and ridges pile up into the blue sky.
Green shadows and red clouds catch the morning sun; no bird can fly up to the distant sky over Wu.
Climbing high, I see the magnificent world: the great river runs far away without returning.
Yellow clouds stretch for ten thousand miles in the shifting wind; white waves surge along nine streams like snowy mountains.
I love singing of Mount Lu; the mountain itself inspires me.
At ease I gaze into the stone mirror and clear my thoughts; green moss covers the path where Lord Xie once walked.
May I take the elixir early and leave worldly concerns behind; after three stages of zither meditation, I will begin to learn the Way.
Far away I see immortals in colored clouds, holding lotus flowers as they greet the Jade Capital.
I had arranged to meet Hanman beyond the nine heavens; I hope to join Lu Ao on a journey through the pure sky.

Li Bai — A Song on My Dream Journey to Mount Tianmu, Written at Parting
Travelers by sea talk of Yingzhou, but its misty waves make it hard to find.
People of Yue speak of Mount Tianmu; through clouds and sunset colors, one can sometimes see it.
Mount Tianmu reaches across the sky, rising higher than the five great mountains and hiding Red City.
Even Tiantai, forty-eight thousand feet tall, seems to lean southeast and bow before it.
Thinking of it, I dreamed of the land of Wu and Yue and flew across Mirror Lake by moonlight in one night.
The moon on the lake lit up my shadow and carried me to Shan Creek.
The place where Lord Xie once stayed is still there; clear water ripples and monkeys call.
Wearing the wooden shoes of Lord Xie, I climbed a stairway into the clouds.
Halfway up the cliff I saw the sun over the sea and heard the heavenly rooster high in the air.
I wound past a thousand cliffs, unable to find a fixed path; entranced by flowers and leaning on rocks, I suddenly found it was dusk.
Bears roared and dragons sang; the mountain springs rumbled, making the deep woods tremble and the high peaks shake.
The clouds darkened and rain was near; mist rose from the gently rippling water.
Lightning flashed and thunder struck, and hills and mountains split apart.
The stone doors of a cavern in the sky opened with a roar.
Beyond lay a vast blue space with no visible end; sun and moon lit up towers of gold and silver.
Wearing rainbows as clothes and riding the wind as horses, the lords of the clouds came down in crowds.
Tigers played harps and phoenixes guided carriages; immortals stood in lines as numerous as reeds.
Suddenly my heart shook and my spirit stirred; I woke in fright and sighed for a long time.
All I found on waking was my pillow and bedding; the clouds and colors I had seen were gone.
The pleasures of the world are like this too; everything since ancient times has flowed east like water.
When I leave you, when will I come back? For now I'll let my white deer graze among green cliffs and ride it to famous mountains when I wish.
How could I lower my brows and bend my back to serve the powerful, so that I could no longer be happy?

Li Bai — Parting at a Tavern in Jinling
Wind blows willow fluff through the tavern, filling it with fragrance; a woman of Wu pours wine and calls guests to try it.
The young men of Jinling come to see me off; as I try to leave, each one drinks a whole cup.
Ask the river flowing east: is its length greater or less than my sadness at parting?

Li Bai — Seeing My Uncle Yun, the Editor, Off at Xie Tiao's Tower in Xuanzhou
The day that left me yesterday cannot be held back.
The day that troubles my mind today is filled with worry.
A strong wind carries autumn geese ten thousand miles; seeing them, we can drink deeply in the high tower.
Your writing has the force of Penglai's ancient texts and the poets of Jian'an; my lines, like Xie Tiao's, are clear and lively.
Both of us feel our spirits soaring and our thoughts rising; we want to climb into the sky and take hold of the bright moon.
If I draw a sword to cut the water, it keeps on flowing; if I raise a cup to ease my sorrow, I feel even sadder.
When life in this world doesn't go as I wish, tomorrow I'll let my hair loose and sail a little boat.

Li Shangyin — The Stone Inscription by Han Yu
The emperor of the Yuanhe era was mighty and almost godlike; who were the rulers Xuanyuan and Fuxi beside him?
He vowed to avenge the shame of earlier emperors; seated in the palace hall, he received homage from foreign peoples.
Rebels had ruled western Huai for fifty years; one wolf lord gave way to another fierce beast.
They occupied plains rather than mountain strongholds and brandished long spears and sharp lances by daylight.
The emperor found a great minister named Pei Du; when rebels hacked at him without killing him, the spirits protected him.
Wearing the minister's seal at his waist, he took command of the armies; a dark wind dimmed the ruler's banners.
Li Su, Han Wu, Li Daogu and Li Wentong served as his fighting men; Han Yu, an official of the rites, followed with a pen.
The army's chief of staff was wise and brave; a hundred and forty thousand soldiers were fierce as tigers.
They entered Cai, bound the rebel and presented him at the ancestral temple; no one could match their merit, and the rewards were beyond counting.
The emperor said, “Pei Du, your merit is foremost. Your aide Han Yu should write about it.”
Han Yu bowed low and danced for joy: “I can carve the record in stone.”
“People have always called this great writing; the work need not belong to an official with a particular post.
No one should hold back from doing what is right.” At his words the emperor nodded several times.
After leaving court, Han Yu fasted and sat in a little chamber, wetting his great brush generously with ink.
He revised words worthy of the records of Yao and Shun and changed verses worthy of the temple hymns.
He completed the unusual work and wrote it out; at dawn he bowed twice and spread it on the red court steps.
His memorial read, “Your servant Yu risks his life to submit a poem on your divine achievement, to be carved on a stone.”
The stone was thirty feet high and its characters as large as a ladle, supported by a sacred tortoise and wound around with carved dragons.
Its words were strange and forceful, and few understood them; slanderers told the emperor it gave undue praise to Han Yu's patron.
A hundred-foot rope dragged the stone down; rough sand and great stones were used to rub away its writing.
But Han Yu's words were like the breath of the world, already absorbed into people's hearts and minds.
The ancient rulers' vessels once carried inscriptions; their objects are gone but their words remain.
How splendidly that emperor and minister together spread their glorious peace!
If Han Yu's work is not shown to later generations, how can their deeds compare with the ancient rulers'?
I would like to write it out ten thousand times and recite it ten thousand times until my mouth foams and my right hand grows callused.
Pass it down for seventy-three generations and use it to support the rites on sacred mountains and the temple of the emperor.

Li Qi — An Old Theme
A young man goes on long campaigns; since boyhood he has lived around You and Yan.
He gambles for victory on horseback; he has always valued his life lightly.
After he kills a man, no one dares face him; his beard bristles like a hedgehog.
Beneath yellow clouds by the Long Mountains, white snow flies; until he repays his ruler, he cannot return home.
A young wife in Liaodong, only fifteen, knows how to play the pipa, sing and dance.
Now she plays a frontier song on the Qiang flute, making all our soldiers cry like rain.

Li Qi — Seeing Chen Zhangfu Off
In the southern wind of the fourth month the barley turns yellow; jujube flowers have not yet fallen, and the paulownia gives long shade.
Leaving green mountains in the morning, I see them again at dusk; my horse neighs as I leave home and think of my native place.
Master Chen has a remarkably open heart; he has a curly beard, tiger-like eyebrows and a broad forehead.
His mind holds ten thousand books, and he refuses to bow his head even when living in the wilderness.
At the east gate he buys wine for us; he regards all the world's troubles as light as goose down.
He lies drunk, unaware of the sunset, and sometimes stares up at a solitary cloud.
The long river's waves are dark up to the sky; boats stop at the ferry and cannot cross.
The traveler from Zheng has not reached home; the one bound for Luoyang sighs in vain.
I hear that many old friends are in your old woods; now that you left office yesterday, what will you do?

Li Qi — Song of the Zither
Our host has wine to make us happy tonight; he asks a guest from Guangling to play the zither.
The moon lights the city wall as crows fly off; frost chills the many trees and wind enters our clothes.
Candles shine brighter beside the bronze stove; first he plays “Clear Water,” then “The Lady of Chu.”
One note moves us, and everything grows quiet; no one speaks, and the stars begin to fade.
I have been sent more than a thousand miles along the clear Huai; let me say that my life among clouds and mountains begins here.

Li Qi — Listening to Dong the Elder Play “The Northern Reed,” and a Message to Official Fang
Long ago Lady Cai composed the tune of the northern reed pipe, played in eighteen sections.
Northern people shed tears that wet frontier grass; the Han envoy's heart broke before those returning home.
The old garrison stood dark green and its beacons were cold; the great wilderness was deep with flying white snow.
He brushed the strings for the shang note, then played the jue and yu notes; falling autumn leaves rustled on every side.
Master Dong, your skill seems supernatural; spirits from the deep mountains come to listen secretly.
Slow notes and fast ones answer your hands; the melody departs and turns back as if it had feelings.
A hundred birds scatter and gather on the empty mountain; clouds across ten thousand miles make the sky dark and then clear.
A young goose lost from its flock cries out at night; a northern child cries faintly for his mother.
The river stills its waves for him, and the birds stop singing too.
For the people of Wusun, home is far away; dust in the lands of Lhasa stirs sorrow and resentment.
His low melody suddenly changes and sweeps on like a strong wind through trees and rain falling on roof tiles.
Springs burst and rush into the treetops; wild deer call as they run beneath the hall.
Chang'an stretches to the eastern palace wall; the Phoenix Pool stands by the decorated green gate.
You, a gifted man above fame and wealth, wait every morning and evening for him to come with his zither.

Li Qi — Song on Hearing An Wanshan Play the Reed Pipe
Bamboo was cut on the southern mountains to make the reed pipe; its music first came from Kucha.
It reached the Han lands, where its tunes grew more unusual; a man from Liangzhou plays it for me.
Neighbors who hear it often sigh; travelers far from home shed tears of longing.
People know how to hear but not how to value it; it wanders alone in the strong wind.
It sounds like cold wind through withered mulberry and old cypress, or nine young phoenixes calling all at once.
Dragon cries and tiger roars break out together, with sounds of a hundred springs amid autumn.
Suddenly he plays the “Yuyang” war song; yellow clouds spread, and the sun grows dark.
Then the melody changes, like hearing “Willows in Spring”; the flowers of the upper grove seem newly bright before my eyes.
On a festival night, lamps line the great hall; with every cup of good wine there is another tune.

Du Fu — Looking at General Cao's Painting of Horses at Clerk Wei Feng's House
Since the founding of our dynasty, Prince Jiangdu alone was praised for his wonderful paintings of horses.
General Cao has been famous for thirty years, and now people have seen another true heavenly horse.
Once he painted the former emperor's horse, Shining White by Night; for ten days the picture caused a commotion at Dragon Pool.
From the palace came a deep-red agate bowl; a lady of the court brought the order and asked for the painting.
The bowl was given to the general, who bowed and danced before returning home; fine white silks followed him in heaps.
Only after powerful nobles obtained his paintings did their screens and walls begin to shine.
Long ago Emperor Taizong had Curly-Haired Brown; more recently the Guo family had Lion-Flower.
These two horses appear in this new painting, again making those who know horses sigh with wonder.
Both fought in battle and could each face ten thousand enemies; spread on white silk, they seem to stir wind and sand.
The other seven are exceptional too, looking from afar like mist and snow moving in the cold sky.
Their frost-colored hooves trample among tall catalpa trees; their grooms and stablemen stand together in rows.
All nine magnificent horses seem to compete, looking about with noble and steady bearing.
Who loved them enough to preserve this work? Wei Feng today, as the monk Zhidun did before him.
I remember when the emperor traveled to Xinfeng Palace, with his green banners brushing the sky as he went east.
Thirty thousand fine, spirited horses were with him, all with the same muscles and bones as these painted ones.
Since the precious horses were presented to the river god, no one has hunted river monsters with arrows in the water.
Don't you see, among the pines and cypresses before Golden Millet Mound, the heavenly horses are gone and birds cry in the wind?

Du Fu — Song on Painting, for General Cao Ba
General, you are descended from Cao Cao of Wei;
Today you live as a commoner in the city's outskirts.
The heroes' rule of their own lands has ended,
But their artistic talent and grace live on in you.
At first you studied the calligraphy of Lady Wei,
And regretted not surpassing Wang Xizhi.
Then you painted, unaware of approaching old age;
Wealth and rank meant no more to you than passing clouds.
During the Kaiyuan years, you were often called to court;
Favored by the ruler, you often went up to the Southern Fragrance Hall.
The portraits of honored ministers at Lingyan had lost their color;
Your brush gave them fresh faces.
A fine minister wore a cap of office on his head;
A fierce general had large feathered arrows at his waist.
The hair of Lord Bao and Lord E seemed to stir;
Their bold figures looked ready for battle again.
The former emperor owned a fine horse, Jade-Flower Dapple;
Countless painters had tried to capture it and failed.
One day it was led below the red palace steps;
Standing tall by the gates, it seemed to raise a strong wind.
The emperor ordered you to spread your white silk and paint it;
You worked patiently, forming the picture in your mind.
Soon a true dragon seemed to come out of the palace,
Sweeping away every ordinary horse ever painted.
Jade-Flower seemed to stand on the imperial couch,
Looking straight at its living counterpart in the courtyard.
The emperor smiled and ordered gold given to you;
The stablemen and horsekeepers all felt disappointed.
Your student Han Gan learned from you early
And could paint horses in all their different shapes.
But Han Gan painted only flesh, not bones,
And let the spirits of his fine horses fade away.
Your paintings are so good they seem almost divine;
Whenever you met a fine person, you painted that person's likeness too.
Now in these years of war you wander from place to place
And often paint portraits of ordinary travelers.
When you reach a dead end, common people look down on you;
No one in the world is as poor as you.
But see how often those with great names in the past
Have struggled through all their days.

Du Fu — To Court Adviser Han Zhu
I am unhappy now and think of Yueyang; I wish I could fly there, but I lie sick in bed.
My fine friend is across the autumn waters, washing his feet in Dongting Lake and looking toward the whole world.
A wild goose flies high under the bright sun and moon; green maple leaves turn red as frost falls from the sky.
At the jade capital the gods assemble around the Big Dipper, some riding qilin and some hidden by phoenixes.
Lotus banners descend through mist; their reflections move in reverse among the Xiao and Xiang waters.
The lord of the starry palace is drunk on fine heavenly wine, with few winged immortals around him.
I think I heard that he was recently Red Pine, the immortal; perhaps he was Zhang Liang of the Han dynasty.
Long ago he helped the Liu family establish Chang'an; though he left the council tent, he still grieved deeply.
How would I dare speak of my country's success or failure? Sickened by blood and decay, he lives on maple fragrance.
People long regretted being detained south of the Zhou court; the Old Man star in the south must promise long life.
Why is my fine friend across the autumn waters? How can I bring him here to serve in the palace?

Du Fu — Song of the Ancient Cypress
Before Zhuge Liang's shrine stands an old cypress, with branches like bronze and roots like rock.
Its frosted bark runs with rain; forty arms could circle it, and its dark crown rises two thousand feet into the sky.
Clouds from Wu Gorge touch its heights; when the moon rises, cold whiteness from the Snow Mountains reaches it.
Ruler and minister met at the right time; people still love and protect their tree.
I remember how yesterday's road curved east of Brocade Pavilion, where the first ruler and his minister shared a shrine.
Tall branches stood ancient above the fields; faded paintings filled the empty windows and doors.
It has a firm place for its spreading roots, yet standing alone at such a height, it faces violent winds.
Spirits must help keep it standing; nature made it so straight and strong.
If a great building were about to collapse, it would need beams and pillars; even ten thousand oxen would struggle to drag this mountain's weight.
Even without showing its rich grain, it amazes the world; it would not resist the ax, but who could transport it?
Its hard heart cannot escape ants; its fragrant leaves still shelter phoenixes.
People with great aims and recluses alike should not complain: since ancient times it has been hard to find a use for great talent.

Du Fu — Watching a Student of Lady Gongsun Dance with Swords, with Preface
Long ago Lady Gongsun was beautiful, and one dance with swords stirred the whole world.
Onlookers crowded like hills and lost their composure; heaven and earth seemed to rise and fall with her.
She flashed like the suns falling when Yi shot nine of them, and leaped like gods riding dragons upward.
Her entrance was like thunder when anger subsides; at the end she was still as the blue light on rivers and seas.
Her red lips and beaded sleeves have long vanished, but a student later carried on her art.
A fine dancer from Linying performed this piece at Baidi; her skill and spirit were extraordinary.
After talking with her, I thought about our times and what had happened, and grew still sadder.
The former emperor had eight thousand women serving him; Gongsun's sword dance was the best of them all.
Fifty years passed as quickly as turning a hand; war and turmoil darkened the royal family.
The Pear Garden performers scattered like smoke; one woman's surviving art now catches the cold sunlight.
South of Golden Millet Mound, trees are already as thick as an arm; grasses are dry around the stone city at Qutang.
The fast flutes stop and the feast ends; after joy comes sorrow as the moon rises in the east.
I am old and do not know where to go; with blistered feet among barren hills, my sadness only grows.

Meng Haoran — Returning to Mount Lumen at Night
The temple bell sounds on the mountain as day turns dark; people crowd the ferry at Fishing Weir, shouting to cross.
Others follow the sandy bank toward their riverside village; I too take a boat home to Mount Lumen.
The moon over Lumen lights up the trees amid mist, and suddenly I reach the place where Master Pang withdrew from the world.
The rocky gate and pine-lined path are always quiet; only a person living apart goes back and forth here.

Liu Zongyuan — The Fisherman
At night a fisherman sleeps beside the western cliff; at dawn he draws clear water from the Xiang and burns bamboo from Chu.
When the mist clears and the sun rises, he is nowhere to be seen; one cry from his rowing and mountains and waters turn green.
I look back toward the sky as his boat goes downstream; over the cliff, carefree clouds follow one another.

Chen Zi'ang — Song on Climbing Youzhou Terrace
I see no great people from the past ahead of me and none yet to come behind me.
Thinking how endless heaven and earth are, I stand alone, grieving, and tears fall.

Han Yu — Mountain Stones
The mountain rocks were rough and the path was narrow; I reached the temple at dusk as bats flew overhead. I entered the hall and sat on the steps, where fresh rain still lay; banana leaves were broad and gardenias full. A monk said there were fine paintings of Buddhas on the old walls and brought a light, though little could be seen. He spread out a bed, dusted the mat and served soup and rice; even coarse food was enough to satisfy my hunger. I lay still late at night when all the insects had stopped; the clear moon rose over the ridge and lit the door. At dawn I set off alone where no road could be seen, going up and down through the last of the mist. Red hills and green ravines shone all around; I sometimes saw pines and oaks so thick it would take ten arms to circle them. I crossed barefoot, stepping on stones in the stream, with the water splashing and the wind moving my clothes. Life like this could be enjoyable enough; why must we let others confine and control us? Ah, my two or three friends, how can we keep from going back there until we are old?

Han Yu — On the Night of the Fifteenth of the Eighth Month, for Secretary Zhang
Thin clouds have rolled back on every side; no Milky Way can be seen. A clear wind sweeps the sky, and the moon spreads its light on the water. The sand is flat and the water still; all sound and shadows are gone. As I offer you a cup, you should sing. Your song sounds sad and its words are bitter; I cannot hear it to the end without crying like rain. Dongting Lake meets the sky, the Nine Doubts mountains rise high, dragons appear and vanish, and gibbons and flying squirrels call. Through danger you reached your post barely alive, and lived hidden and silent as if you were a fugitive. Getting out of bed, you feared snakes; eating, you feared poison. Damp, stagnant sea air filled everything with its foul smell. Yesterday a great drum sounded outside the district office: the new emperor had succeeded the former sage and raised worthy ministers to office. The pardon traveled ten thousand miles in a day, freeing even those sentenced to death. Those demoted were recalled and those exiled returned; their faults were washed away and they could join the officials at court. But the district submitted your name and the higher authorities blocked it; in your misfortune you were merely moved to another remote southern post. Your low office as a clerk is hardly worth mentioning, and you are still beaten and humiliated in the dust. Many of our contemporaries are already on the road upward, but the road to court is dark and dangerous, hard to climb after them. Stop your song and listen to mine; my song takes a different view tonight. No night this year has a brighter moon than this one. Life depends on fate, not on anything else; with wine here, how could we refuse to drink under the moon?

Han Yu — Visiting the Temple of Mount Heng, Then Spending the Night at the Mountain Monastery and Writing on Its Gate Tower
The five sacred mountains all receive offerings equal in rank to those for the three highest ministers; they guard the four directions, with Mount Song at the center. This southern land of fire is wild and full of spirits; heaven has given Mount Heng special power over it. Clouds and mist pour from it and hide half its sides; who can reach its highest peak? I came during the season of autumn rain, when dark weather brought no clear wind. I prayed silently and with all my heart, and it seemed I was answered; perhaps honesty can reach the spirits. In a moment the sky cleared quietly, revealing every peak; I looked up at their steep shapes propping up the blue sky. Purple Canopy stretched out to meet Heaven Pillar; Stone Granary rose steeply and piled up beside Zhurong Peak. Struck with awe, I dismounted and bowed, then followed a path among pines and cypresses to the mountain spirit's temple. Whitewashed walls and red columns shone, and paintings of spirits covered them in green and red. I climbed the steps, bent low and offered dried meat and wine, wanting my small offering to show my sincerity. The old temple attendant knew the spirit's wishes and watched closely, bowing as he approached. He held divining blocks and guided me as I cast them, saying the result was the best possible and the others could not equal it. Exiled into the southern wilderness, I am lucky just to be alive, and I would gladly live out my days with enough to eat and wear. I gave up long ago on being a prince, general or minister; even a spirit wanting to bless me could do nothing in that regard. At night I went to a Buddhist temple and climbed a high room; stars and moon appeared and vanished behind hazy clouds. I heard monkeys and bells without noticing the dawn, until the cold sun rose bright in the east.

Han Yu — Song of the Stone Drums
A student named Zhang brought me a copy of the stone-drum inscriptions and urged me to write a song about them. Du Fu is gone and Li Bai is dead; what can someone of my limited talent do with the drums? The Zhou dynasty's order was failing and the whole world was in turmoil when King Xuan rose in anger and took up his weapons. He opened the great court hall to receive honors; the princes' swords and pendants clinked against each other. Hunting at Qiyang, he drove his mighty horsemen; animals for ten thousand miles were caught in their nets. He ordered his achievements carved for all ages, cutting stone into drums from the rough mountains. His attendants were the finest in their arts, and those chosen to compose and carve the words left them in the hills. Rain fell, sun burned and wildfires scorched them, while spirits guarded and protected them. Where did you find a paper copy so accurate down to the smallest stroke? The words are serious and packed with meaning, hard to understand; the letter forms resemble neither later formal script nor ancient tadpole script. Time has inevitably worn away some strokes, yet others look like a sharp sword cutting a living dragon or river monster. The characters seem like phoenixes and mythical birds taking flight, or crowds of immortals descending; like branching coral and green trees. They look like strong knots of gold rope and iron chain, and like an old bronze vessel leaping from water as a dragon darts through it. Narrow-minded scholars did not include these poems in their collection; even its two Great Odes are cramped and lack such breadth. Confucius did not travel west to Qin; in gathering stars, he left out the sun and moon. Ah, I love old things but was born so late; looking at these words, tears stream from my eyes. I recall when I was first appointed a scholar at court, in the year the new era was named Yuanhe. An old friend of mine serving in the western military district measured the hollows the drums sat in for me, to plan how to dig them out. I washed my cap and bathed before telling the head of the academy: few treasures like this remain. Wrapped in felt and matting, they could be brought here at once; ten drums would take only a few camels to carry. Put them in the ancestral temple beside the old bronze cauldron of Gao, and their value would shine a hundred times brighter. If the emperor allowed them to stay at the academy, students could study and discuss them closely. People crowd to see old texts at the Hongdu school; I can already see the entire country rushing to these drums. Remove the moss and scrape away the lichen to expose their corners; set them level and securely in place. Cover them with the deep eaves of a great building so they may endure many years without damage. But senior officials at court have grown set in their ways; rather than show any enthusiasm, they will only mutter in agreement. Boys who herd animals strike fires against them, and cattle rub their horns on them; who will care enough to touch and protect them? Worn away by day and month, they sink toward oblivion; for six years I have looked west and sung about them in vain. Wang Xizhi's fashionable writing sought only pretty forms, yet a few sheets of it could be traded for white geese. After the Zhou, eight dynasties passed through wars; no one gathered these drums or looked after them. Now the country is peaceful and days are free from war, and learned officials have power and honor Confucius and Mencius. How can I bring this matter before the court? I wish I could borrow a voice as strong as a rushing river. Here my song of the stone drums ends. Ah, I fear my hopes are in vain.

### Ballads in the Music Bureau Style

Wang Zhihuan — Beyond the Frontier
The Yellow River seems to rise into the white clouds in the distance;
One lonely city stands among mountains ten thousand feet high.
Why should the Qiang flute play a sad song about willow trees?
The spring wind never crosses the Jade Pass.

Wang Changling — Beyond the Frontier
The moon is the same as in Qin times, the frontier pass the same as in Han; soldiers go ten thousand miles and do not return.
If the flying general of Dragon City were still here, he would not let the northern horsemen cross the Yin Mountains.

Wang Changling — Song below the Frontier, First Poem
Cicadas sing in the empty mulberry grove; it is August on the road to Xiao Pass.
It is cold on both sides of the frontier; yellow reeds grow everywhere.
Men from You and Bing have always grown old in the dust and sand.
Don't imitate the young adventurers who boast about their fine reddish horses.

Wang Changling — Song below the Frontier, Second Poem
We water our horses crossing autumn waters; the water is cold, and the wind cuts like a knife.
The sun has not yet set over the level sands; dimly we can see Lintao.
Everyone says the men who fought here at the Great Wall long ago were full of courage.
Yellow dust covers all ages; white bones lie among weeds and wild wormwood.

Wang Changling — Complaint from Changxin Palace
At dawn the golden hall opens, and she comes with a broom;
She walks about for a while carrying her round fan.
Her lovely face is not even as fortunate as a cold crow:
The crow can still bring back sunlight from Zhaoyang Palace.

Wang Wei — Song of Weicheng
Morning rain in Weicheng dampens the light dust; at the travelers' inn the willow trees look fresh and green.
I urge you to finish one more cup of wine: west of Yang Pass, you will have no old friends.

Wang Wei — Song of an Autumn Night
The moon has just risen and autumn dew is slight; her thin silk clothes are already too light, but she has not changed.
She plays her silver zither intently late into the night, afraid to return to her empty room alone.

Wang Wei — Song of a Girl from Luoyang
Across the street lives a girl from Luoyang; she is beautiful and just over fifteen.
Her husband rides a dappled horse with a jade bridle; her maid serves finely sliced carp on a gold plate.
Painted pavilions and red towers face each other; red peach and green willow branches hang down from the eaves.
She goes out behind silk curtains in a richly scented carriage and returns behind a jeweled fan to a flowered canopy.
Her reckless husband became rich and powerful while young; his arrogance and luxury surpass even Shi Chong's.
He loves his beautiful wife and teaches her to dance himself; he gives away coral without a thought.
At dawn by the spring window the nine-branched lamp burns out; sparks from its nine lights scatter like flowers.
After the games end she has no time to learn a tune; when her makeup is done she just sits surrounded by perfume.
Her acquaintances in the city are all rich; day and night she visits the homes of Zhao and Li.
Who cares for the Yue girl, beautiful as jade, who washes silk alone at the riverbank in poverty?

Wang Wei — The Old General
When he was fifteen or twenty, he captured a northern horse while fighting on foot.
He shot the white-foreheaded tiger in the hills; why would he count the deeds of the yellow-bearded boy from Ye?
He fought across three thousand miles, and once held off a million soldiers with his sword.
Han troops struck as fast as thunder; the enemy horsemen scattered in fear of the caltrops.
Wei Qing never lost because heaven favored him; Li Guang won no honor because his luck was bad.
Since he was dismissed, he has grown weak and old; as the years slipped away, his hair turned white.
His arrows once struck birds through the eye; now a growth like willow bark has appeared on his left elbow.
Sometimes he sells melons by the road like a former marquis; by his gate he learns to grow willows like a teacher.
Old trees spread across his narrow lane; a cold, empty hill faces his open window.
He vows to bring water gushing from Shule, not merely drink himself into a stupor like the man from Yingchuan.
Beneath Mount Helan, armies gather like clouds; military messages rush past from morning to night.
Envoys recruit young men from the three river districts; imperial orders send generals out along five routes.
He brushes his iron armor till it shines like snow, and takes up his fine sword with its starry patterns.
He wants a bow from Yan to shoot the enemy commander; he would be ashamed to hear Yue armor clashing against Wu's army.
Do not look down on the former governor of Yunzhong: he can still win honor in one battle.

Wang Wei — Journey to Peach Blossom Spring
A fisherman follows the stream in his boat, loving the mountain spring; peach blossoms line both banks as he goes.
Watching the red trees, he does not notice how far he has traveled; he reaches the end of the green stream without seeing anyone.
He moves quietly into the mountain opening and first finds a hidden bend; then the hills open into a broad, flat plain.
Far off he sees trees gathered like clouds; close up he enters a thousand homes among scattered flowers and bamboo.
The woodcutters first speak names from the Han dynasty, but the residents still wear clothes from Qin times.
Living together at the source of Wuling, they built their farms outside the familiar world.
By moonlight their rooms are quiet beneath the pines; at sunrise chickens and dogs call among the clouds.
Amazed to hear of an outsider, people gather and bring him to their homes, asking about the cities.
At dawn the lanes are swept clean of fallen flowers; at dusk fishermen and woodcutters enter by water.
Their ancestors first left human society to escape trouble; once they became immortals, they did not return.
Who outside this gorge knows people live here? From the world outside one sees only distant cloudy mountains.
He does not suspect how hard it is to find this magical place again; his thoughts remain worldly, and he misses his home district.
He leaves the cave, untroubled by the mountains and water between; saying goodbye, he plans to return and stay a long time.
He thinks he knows the old route and will not get lost; how can he know that mountains and valleys have changed?
He remembers only going deep into the mountains, following the green stream around several bends to the cloudy woods.
In spring peach blossoms cover the water everywhere; he cannot tell where to look for the hidden source.

Li Bai — Clear and Peaceful Melody, First Poem
The clouds suggest her clothes, and flowers her face; the spring wind brushes the railing and the dew shines thickly.
If she is not seen at the top of Mount Qunyu, she must be met by moonlight at the Jade Terrace.

Li Bai — Clear and Peaceful Melody, Second Poem
One red flower shines as dew gathers its fragrance; the cloud-and-rain goddess of Mount Wu grieves for nothing beside her.
Who in the Han palace could compare? Even lovely Feiyan needs fresh makeup!

Li Bai — Clear and Peaceful Melody, Third Poem
The famous flower and the beautiful woman bring each other joy; the ruler always watches them with a smile.
They ease every sadness the spring wind brings, leaning on the railing north of the Aloeswood Pavilion.

Li Bai — Bring the Wine
Don't you see the Yellow River's water come down from the sky, rush into the sea and never return?
Don't you see how a person mourns their white hair in the mirror of a great hall: black as silk at dawn, white as snow by evening?
When life goes well, we must enjoy it fully; don't let a gold cup face the moon empty.
Heaven gave me talent for a reason; even if I spend a thousand gold coins, they will come back.
Let us cook sheep and slaughter cattle for a feast; when we drink, it must be three hundred cups.
Master Cen, my friend Danqiu, drink the wine and don't stop your cups.
I'll sing you a song; please listen closely.
Bells, drums and fine food are not worth prizing; I only wish to stay drunk and never wake.
From ancient times the sages have gone unremembered; only the drinkers have left their names.
The Prince of Chen once held a feast at Pingle, drinking costly wine and enjoying himself without restraint.
Host, why say there isn't enough money? Go buy the wine at once, and let's drink together.
The five-colored horse, the fur coat worth a thousand gold coins:
Tell the boy to take them and exchange them for good wine, so we can ease the sorrow of ten thousand ages.

Li Bai — Complaint at the Jade Steps
White dew forms on the jade steps; after a long night it soaks her silk socks.
She lowers the crystal curtain and looks through it at the clear autumn moon.

Li Bai — Longing, First Poem
I long for you in Chang'an. Crickets chirp in autumn by the gold well railing, and light frost chills the bamboo mat.
Beside a dim, solitary lamp my longing overwhelms me; I roll up the curtain to watch the moon and sigh, but you are as far away as a flower beyond the clouds.
Above is the long, dark sky; below, waves on clear water.
The sky is vast and the road is long, and my spirit suffers as it flies; it cannot even reach you in dreams across the hard mountain passes.
Longing for you breaks my heart.

Li Bai — Longing, Second Poem
The sunlight is fading, flowers are wrapped in mist, and under the bright moon I lie awake in sorrow.
The music on my Zhao zither has stopped at its phoenix bridges; I want to play my Shu lute with its mandarin-duck strings.
There is no one to carry the feeling in this song; I wish the spring wind would take it to Yanran, since you are far away across the blue sky.
My eyes once looked bright and lively; now tears pour from them.
If you don't believe my heart is broken, come back and look at my reflection in the mirror.

Li Bai — The Road Is Hard, First Poem
Clear wine in gold cups costs ten thousand coins a measure; fine food on jade plates costs ten thousand coins.
I put down my cup and chopsticks, unable to eat; I draw my sword and look around, not knowing what to do.
I want to cross the Yellow River, but ice blocks the stream; I want to climb the Taihang Mountains, but snow covers them.
At ease, I fish in a green stream; suddenly I dream of sailing beside the sun.
The road is hard! The road is hard! So many forks—where should I go now?
One day the strong wind will help me break through the waves; I will raise my cloud-white sail and cross the vast sea.

Li Bai — The Road Is Hard, Second Poem
The great road is as wide as the blue sky, yet I alone cannot get through.
I refuse to follow the boys of Chang'an who gamble on red roosters and white dogs for pears and chestnuts.
I strike my sword and sing a bitter song; I am not happy trailing my robes through the rulers' gates.
People in the market at Huaiyin laughed at Han Xin; Han officials envied Jia Yi.
Didn't the ruler of Yan honor Guo Wei in the past, sweeping the path for him and humbling himself without suspicion?
Ju Xin and Yue Yi were moved by that kindness and gave all they had in service with their outstanding talents.
King Zhao's bones are now wrapped in rotting weeds; who will sweep the Golden Terrace again?
The road is hard. I will go home.

Li Bai — The Road Is Hard, Third Poem
If you have ears, don't wash them in the waters of Yingchuan; if you have a mouth, don't eat ferns from Mount Shouyang.
Hide your brilliance and live among others without seeking a name; why be as proudly alone as the clouds and moon?
I see that since ancient times, talented people who did not retire after success have all been killed.
Zixu was cast aside beside the Wu River, and Qu Yuan finally threw himself into the Xiang River.
Could Lu Ji's great talent protect him? Li Si waited too long to leave office.
Could one still hear the cranes of Huating? What was the point of his longing for the hawks of Shangcai?
Don't you know that Zhang Han in Wu understood how to live, and suddenly thought of returning east when the autumn wind came?
Enjoy a cup of wine while you're alive; why need a thousand years of fame after death?

Li Bai — Song of Changgan
When my hair first fell across my forehead, I picked flowers and played by the door.
You came riding a bamboo horse and played with green plums around my seat.
We both lived in Changgan Lane, two children with no doubts about each other.
At fourteen I became your wife, too shy even to show my face.
I lowered my head toward the dark wall and would not turn around, though you called a thousand times.
At fifteen I began to smile openly and wished to share even dust and ashes with you.
I always believed you would keep your word, firm as the man who held to a pillar; why would I have to climb a tower to watch for my husband?
At sixteen you went far away, to the Yanyu rocks at Qutang Gorge.
In the fifth month the rocks are too dangerous to touch; high above them the monkeys cry sadly.
Your slow footsteps in front of the door have each grown green moss.
The moss is so deep I cannot sweep it away; the autumn wind brings falling leaves early.
In the eighth month butterflies come, flying in pairs over the grass in the western garden.
Seeing them hurts my heart; sitting alone in sorrow, I feel my young face aging.
When you come down through the Three Ba districts, send a letter home beforehand.
I will come to meet you however far it is, even as far as Changfeng Sands.

Li Bai — The Road to Shu Is Hard
Oh! How dangerous, how high it is!
The road to Shu is harder than climbing into the sky!
Cangcong and Yufu founded that kingdom so long ago that its beginnings are obscure.
For forty-eight thousand years since then, no one traveled between it and the passes of Qin.
To the west of Mount Taibai there was only a route for birds, leading across the top of Mount Emei.
The earth collapsed and mountains fell, killing the strong men; only then were steps up to the sky and plank paths joined along the cliffs.
Above are peaks so high that the six dragons pulling the sun must turn back;
Below are torrents that crash and twist back on themselves.
Even a yellow crane could not fly across; monkeys would struggle to climb over.
How winding is the path at Qingni! In a hundred paces it turns nine times around the cliffs.
Reach up to the stars Shen and Jing, hold your breath, press your hand to your chest and sigh for a long time.
I ask you, traveling west, when will you return? The steep rocks on this fearful road cannot be climbed.
All you see are sad birds calling among ancient trees, males flying with females around the woods.
And you hear the cuckoo crying to the moon at night, grieving in the empty mountains.
The road to Shu is harder than climbing into the sky;
Hearing about it makes a person's face grow pale!
Linked peaks stand less than a foot from the sky; dry pines hang upside down against the sheer cliffs.
Rapids and waterfalls crash and roar, striking the cliffs and rolling rocks through ten thousand valleys with the sound of thunder.
If it is this dangerous, why have you come here from so far away?
The Sword Gate rises steep and high: one man guarding the pass could keep ten thousand men from opening it.
If its guard is not someone loyal to you, he may become a wolf or a jackal.
In the morning you avoid fierce tigers; at night, long snakes.
They grind their teeth and suck blood, killing people in great numbers.
Though Brocade City is said to be pleasant, you had better go home early.
The road to Shu is harder than climbing into the sky;
I turn to look west and cannot stop sighing!

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu: Spring
The girl Luofu from Qin gathers mulberry leaves by the green water.
Her pale hands are among the green branches; her red makeup shines in daylight.
The silkworms are hungry and I must go; you with the five-horse carriage, don't keep me here.

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu: Summer
Mirror Lake stretches three hundred miles; lotus flowers open from their buds.
In the fifth month Xi Shi gathers them, and onlookers crowd Ruoye Creek.
She turns her boat around before moonrise and goes home to the king of Yue.

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu: Autumn
A single moon shines over Chang'an; in ten thousand homes people beat cloth for clothes.
The autumn wind keeps blowing; everyone's thoughts are with those at the Jade Pass.
When will the northern enemy be defeated, so my husband can stop fighting far from home?

Li Bai — Midnight Song of Wu: Winter
The courier leaves tomorrow morning, so I stuff my husband's military coat all night.
My bare hands are cold pulling the needle; how can they bear holding the scissors?
I cut and sew his clothes to send far away. How many days will they take to reach Lintao?

Li Bai — The Moon over the Pass
The bright moon rises from the Tianshan Mountains, among a vast sea of clouds.
A strong wind blows across tens of thousands of miles and through the Jade Pass.
Han soldiers went down the road to Baideng, while northern horsemen watched Qinghai Bay.
This has always been a place of fighting; no one is seen returning.
The men guarding the frontier look across it, their faces full of pain as they think of home.
Tonight in the high tower, those waiting for them must be sighing without rest.

Li Yi — Song of the South
I married a merchant from Qutang; each morning he fails to return when he promised.
If I had known the tides keep their word, I would have married a man who rides them.

Li Qi — An Old Song of Army Life
In daylight I climb a hill to look for beacon fires; at dusk I water my horse beside the Jiao River.
The travelers' watch drums sound through dark wind and sand; the princess's lute plays songs full of grief.
Wild clouds stretch ten thousand miles without a town; rain and snow fall over the vast desert.
Northern geese fly crying sadly each night; northern children shed tears from both eyes.
I hear the Jade Pass is still shut to us; soldiers will have to risk their lives following the light chariots.
Year after year soldiers' bones are buried in the wilderness; all that comes back to the Han lands is grapes.

Du Fu — Song of the War Wagons
Wagons rattle, horses whinny, and each soldier wears a bow and arrows at his waist.
Fathers, mothers, wives and children run to see them off; dust hides Xianyang Bridge.
They pull at clothes and stamp their feet, blocking the road as they cry; their cries rise straight into the clouds.
Someone passing asks the soldiers; they say only that men are called up again and again.
Some went north to guard the river at fifteen, then at forty were sent west to work military farms.
When they left, the village headmen tied their headcloths for them; they came back white-haired and were sent to guard the frontier again.
Blood on the frontier has become a sea, but the emperor still wants to expand the borders.
Haven't you heard that in the two hundred districts east of the mountains under Han rule, wild bushes grow in thousands of villages?
Even when strong women take up hoes and plows, the crops grow in disorder across the fields.
And the troops of Qin, who can endure hard fighting, are driven about no differently from dogs and chickens.
“Though you ask me, sir, how would a conscript dare tell you his grievances?
Look at this winter: soldiers posted west of the passes have still not been released.
District officials demand rent urgently; where can we get the taxes?
It's truly bad to bear sons; it turns out better to bear daughters.
A daughter can at least marry a neighbor; a son is buried under wild grass.
Don't you see by Qinghai Lake? No one has gathered the bones left there for ages.
New ghosts are angry, old ghosts cry; on dark and rainy days their voices wail.”

Du Fu — Song of the Beautiful Women
The air is fresh on the third day of the third month; many beautiful women are beside the water in Chang'an.
Their bearing is rich, their manner distant, kind and sincere; their skin is smooth and their bodies well formed.
Embroidered silk clothes shine in late spring, with peacocks stitched in gold and qilin in silver.
What is on their heads? Green jeweled ornaments hang by their temples.
What can be seen behind them? Pearls weigh down the backs of their dresses, fitting their bodies perfectly.
Among them, behind cloudlike canopies, are the emperor's close relatives, given the titles of the Ladies of Guo and Qin.
Camel humps from purple camels come out of green cooking pots; plates of crystal carry sliced white fish.
Their rhinoceros-horn chopsticks rest untouched, though the food is rich; fine knives keep cutting food in vain.
Palace eunuchs race over without stirring dust; imperial cooks follow one another with eight delicacies.
Flutes and drums play moving tunes; important guests crowd the main road.
How slowly the later rider approaches! He dismounts by the porch and walks onto the brocade carpet.
Willow fluff falls like snow over white water plants; a blue bird flies away carrying a red handkerchief.
His power is so great that no one can stand close to him; be careful not to approach, or the chief minister will be angry.

Du Fu — Lament by the River
The old man of Shaoling stifles his cries as he walks secretly by the bends of Qu River in spring.
The palaces along the river have a thousand locked doors; for whom are the slender willows and new reeds green?
I remember when banners colored like rainbows came down to the southern gardens, and everything there seemed bright.
The foremost woman of Zhaoyang Palace rode beside the ruler, serving at his side.
The ladies before the carriage carried bows and arrows; white horses chewed their golden bridles.
One turned around and shot an arrow up into the clouds; it struck a pair of birds in flight.
Where now is that woman with bright eyes and white teeth? Her blood stains the ground, and her wandering spirit cannot come home.
The clear Wei flows east and Sword Gate lies deep in the west; between those who went and those who stayed there is no news.
People have feelings and tears soak their chests; can the river water and flowers ever end?
At dusk northern riders fill the city with dust; I try to go south but forget which way is north.

Du Fu — Lament for a Royal Grandson
On the wall of Chang'an, a white-headed crow flies at night and calls above Yanqiu Gate.
It pecks again at the great roofs of people's houses; beneath them high officials run to escape the northern enemy.
The golden whip has broken and all nine horses are dead; his own family could not wait to flee together.
At his waist hangs a fine jade pendant and green coral; the poor young prince cries by the roadside.
When I ask, he will not give his name; he only says he is suffering and asks to become a servant.
For a hundred days he has hidden among thorns; there is no patch of his skin left unhurt.
The high emperor's descendants all have high noses; those of royal blood look different from ordinary people.
The jackals are in the city and the dragon is in the wild; prince, take care of your precious life.
I do not dare talk for long at this busy intersection, so I stand with him only a little while.
Last night an east wind brought the smell of blood; camels came from the east and filled the old capital.
The strong men of the northern army are skilled; why were they brave and clever once, but so foolish now?
I have heard in secret that the emperor has handed over the throne, and his son's great virtue has won over even the northern chieftain.
The Huamen people cut their faces and ask to avenge the wrong; take care not to speak of it, or others may spy on you.
Poor prince, be careful and do not lose hope; the good fortune of the five imperial tombs never runs out.

Du Qiuniang — Gold-Threaded Robe
I urge you not to prize a robe embroidered with gold;
I urge you to prize the days when you are young.
When a flower blooms and can be picked, pick it right away;
Don't wait till there are no flowers and pick an empty branch.

Shen Quanqi — Alone and Unseen
A young wife of the Lu family lives in a saffron-scented room; two sea swallows nest on the tortoiseshell beams.
In the ninth month cold cloth-beating hurries the falling leaves; for ten years her husband has served far away at Liaoyang.
Beyond the White Wolf River letters have stopped; south of the capital, autumn nights are long.
Who cares for her sorrow as she lives unseen and alone? The bright moon shines on her yellow silk cloth.

Meng Jiao — Song of a Faithful Woman
Plane trees grow old together; mandarin ducks will die together.
A faithful wife values dying with her husband and gives her life for that reason.
I swear no waves will ever rise: my heart is water in an ancient well.

Meng Jiao — A Traveler's Song
A loving mother holds thread in her hand; the clothes will go on her traveling son's body.
Before he leaves, she makes stitch after close stitch, afraid he will be slow to come back.
How can a small blade of grass repay the warm sunlight of all three spring months?

Gao Shi — Song of Yan
In the twenty-sixth year of the Kaiyuan era, a man who had accompanied Censor Zhang beyond the frontier returned and showed me a “Song of Yan” he had written. Moved by the affairs of the frontier troops, I wrote this in response.
Smoke and dust rise in the northeast of Han territory; a Han general leaves home to defeat the remaining rebels.
Men are naturally proud of sweeping the enemy aside, and the emperor gives them exceptional favor.
Striking gongs and beating drums, they go down through Yu Pass; banners wind through the country around Jieshi.
The commander's urgent letter flies across the vast desert; the northern chief's hunting fires light up Wolf Mountain.
Mountains and rivers stand bleak at the very edge of the frontier; northern horsemen attack with the force of wind and rain.
Half the soldiers at the front are killed or wounded, while beautiful women still sing and dance in the commander's tent.
At the end of autumn in the great desert, frontier grass withers; in the lone city at sunset, few fighting soldiers remain.
The commander, trusting in imperial favor, keeps underestimating the enemy; the troops are exhausted and the siege among the mountains is not lifted.
Men in armor have spent a long, hard time guarding the distant frontier; those left behind must have cried like lines of jade since their parting.
A young wife south of the city is heartbroken; her soldier north of Jizhou looks back in vain.
The frontier land stretches out endlessly: how could one cross it? In that distant country, what is there at all?
The threat of battle fills the sky with dark clouds by day; at night the watchman's rattle carries a cold sound.
They look at each other amid flashing swords and flowing blood; when they die for duty, they do not think of rewards.
Don't you know the hardships of fighting on a battlefield? Even now we remember General Li.

Cui Hao — Song of Changgan, First Poem
“Where do you live? I live in Hengtang.
I stopped my boat to ask you, thinking perhaps we're from the same hometown.”

Cui Hao — Song of Changgan, Second Poem
“My home is by the waters of the Nine Rivers; I travel up and down beside them.
We are both from Changgan, but we didn't know each other as children.”

Lu Lun — Song below the Frontier, First Poem
Eagle feathers are fixed to the golden arrows;
A swallow-tailed banner flies from its embroidered staff.
The commander stands alone and issues a new order;
A thousand camps answer with one shout.

Lu Lun — Song below the Frontier, Second Poem
In the dark woods, wind startles the grass;
The general draws his bow at night.
At dawn he looks for his white-feathered arrow
And finds it sunk deep in a rock.

Lu Lun — Song below the Frontier, Third Poem
Under a dark moon geese fly high; the northern ruler flees at night.
We prepare to follow with light cavalry, but heavy snow covers our bows and swords.

Lu Lun — Song below the Frontier, Fourth Poem
Tents on the plain cover a beautiful feast;
The Qiang and Rong come to celebrate the victorious return.
Drunk, they dance in their gold armor;
The drums roar and shake hills and rivers.

### Five-Character Regulated Verse

Wang Bo — Seeing Prefect Du Off to His Post in Shuzhou
The city walls guard the three Qin districts; through wind and mist I look toward the five ferries.
We both feel this parting, since both of us travel to serve as officials.
As long as we have close friends in the world, the farthest places seem like neighbors.
Don't stand at the crossroads crying into your handkerchief like children.

Wang Wei — Seeing Governor Li Off to Zizhou
Trees rise to the sky in ten thousand valleys; cuckoos call through a thousand mountains.
After one night's rain in the hills, hundreds of streams fall past the treetops.
The Han women pay taxes in woven cloth; the people of Ba argue over taro fields.
Like Wen Weng, teach the people anew; do not rely on the work of worthy officials before you.

Wang Wei — Looking Out over the Han River
The borders of Chu meet the three Xiang rivers; at Jingmen the nine streams join.
The river flows beyond the ends of the earth; the mountains appear and disappear in the distance.
The town seems to float on the water ahead; the waves seem to shake the distant sky.
Xiangyang has such pleasant light and breezes that I'll stay and get drunk with the old man of the hills.

Wang Wei — My Retreat at Mount Zhongnan
In middle age I became fond of the Way; in later years I made my home beside the southern mountain.
Whenever I feel like it, I go out alone, enjoying sights that only I know about.
I walk to where the stream ends and sit watching the clouds rise.
Sometimes I meet an old man in the woods, and we talk and laugh until I forget to go home.

Wang Wei — Mount Zhongnan
Mount Taiyi stands close to heaven's capital; its connected peaks reach to the edge of the sea.
Looking back, I see white clouds gathering; walking into the blue mist, I find it has vanished.
The lands divide at the central peak; sun and shade differ from valley to valley.
Wanting to spend the night in someone's home, I ask a woodcutter across the stream.

Wang Wei — In Reply to Magistrate Zhang
In old age I care only for quiet; nothing else troubles me.
I see that I have no great plans, and only know to return to my old woods.
The wind in the pines blows as I loosen my belt; the mountain moon shines while I play the zither.
You ask about success and failure; a fisherman's song disappears deep into the riverbank.

Wang Wei — Passing Fragrant Accumulation Temple
I do not know where the temple is and go several miles into cloud-covered peaks.
No one walks the paths among the ancient trees; where in these deep mountains is that bell ringing?
A spring seems to choke on steep rocks; the sunlight feels cold on the green pines.
At dusk beside the bend of an empty pool, meditation brings the poisonous dragon under control.

Wang Wei — At Ease in Wangchuan, for Pei Di
The cold mountains turn dark green; autumn waters murmur every day.
I lean on a staff outside my brushwood gate, listening to evening cicadas in the wind.
The last sunlight remains at the ferry; one plume of smoke rises from the village.
Then I meet you, drunk like Jieyu, singing wildly outside my home among the five willows.

Wang Wei — Autumn Evening at My Mountain Home
After new rain on the empty mountain, the evening air feels like autumn.
The bright moon shines through the pines; clear spring water runs over stones.
Bamboo rustles as washing women return; lotuses move when a fishing boat passes through.
Let the spring flowers fade as they will: a person can stay here.

Wang Wei — Returning to Mount Song
Clear water winds beside a long thicket; my carriage and horses move along without hurry.
The running water seems to have a purpose; evening birds return together.
A deserted town stands by the old ferry; the setting sun fills the autumn hills.
Back under distant Mount Song, I shut my gate for now.

Wang Wan — Mooring below Mount Beigu
My road takes me beyond green hills; my boat sails ahead on green water.
At high tide the banks lie far apart; a fair wind holds up my one sail.
The sea sun rises while night is still ending; spring reaches the river before the old year is gone.
Where can I send a letter home? With the geese flying back toward Luoyang.

Sikong Shu — Parting from Han Shen after a Night at Yunyang Inn
My old friend and I parted by rivers and seas; how many times have mountains and waters separated us since then?
At our sudden meeting I think I must be dreaming; saddened, we ask each other how many years have passed.
A lone lamp shines coldly on the rain; smoke hangs darkly in deep bamboo.
We will have the pain of parting again tomorrow, so we pass the farewell cup between us with regret.

Sikong Shu — Glad That My Cousin Lu Lun Has Come to Stay
All is quiet on every side tonight; I live alone in my poor, run-down old house.
Yellow leaves hang on trees in the rain; beneath a lamp sits a white-haired man.
I've lived alone so long that I feel ashamed when you come to visit me often.
We have always had a bond, and besides, we're relatives on my mother's side.

Sikong Shu — Seeing Someone Return North after the Rebels' Defeat
We fled south together during the troubles; now peace has come and you alone return north.
You grew white-haired in a foreign land; back in your old country you'll see the green hills.
You will pass ruined fortifications under the dawn moon and stay at an old pass beneath crowded stars.
Cold birds and withered grass everywhere will keep your sad face company.

Bai Juyi — Grass on the Ancient Plain, Written for a Farewell
Thick grass grows on the old plain; every year it dies and grows again.
Wildfires cannot burn it all away; the spring wind brings it back to life.
Its distant scent reaches across the old road; green grass in the sunshine meets the deserted town.
Once again I see a friend off; the thick grass fills me with sadness at our parting.

Song Zhiwen — Written at the North Station of Dayu Ridge
In the tenth month wild geese fly south, but I've heard they turn back here.
My journey goes on beyond this point; when will I return?
The river is still as the tide starts to fall; the woods are dark and the unhealthy mist does not lift.
Tomorrow, when I look toward home, perhaps I'll see plum blossoms on the ridge.

Cen Shen — To Du, Court Adviser in the Left Office
We walk together to the red steps, then part ways to our separate offices at the palace.
At dawn we enter with the emperor's guard; at dusk we come home with imperial incense on our clothes.
White-haired, I grieve as flowers fall; I envy birds flying freely through the blue sky.
The court of a wise ruler has nothing wrong with it, so I find that I write few letters of advice.

Li Bai — Hearing the Monk Jun from Shu Play the Zither
A monk from Shu carries his zither down from Mount Emei in the west.
He plays a tune for me with a wave of his hand; it sounds like pines across ten thousand valleys.
The flowing music washes clean my thoughts as a traveler; its last notes mingle with bells in the frost.
Without noticing, I find that evening has come to the green mountains, and autumn clouds have darkened layer upon layer.

Li Bai — Mooring at Niuzhu at Night, Thinking of the Past
Tonight on the western river at Niuzhu, not a cloud crosses the blue sky.
I climb aboard and look at the autumn moon, thinking in vain of General Xie.
I too can recite fine verses, but there is no one like him here to hear them.
Tomorrow I will hoist my sail as maple leaves fall all around.

Li Bai — For Meng Haoran
I love Master Meng; the whole world knows his admirable way of life.
In his youth he turned down office and rank; with white hair he lies among pines and clouds.
Often he drinks under the moon; enchanted by flowers, he does not serve a ruler.
How could I reach a person as high as a mountain? I can only enjoy the purity of his example.

Li Bai — Crossing Jingmen and Leaving Home Behind
I crossed the river far beyond Jingmen to travel through the old land of Chu.
Mountains end at the open plain; the river runs into the vast wilderness.
The moon over the water looks like a mirror flying down from the sky; clouds gather like towers rising from the sea.
I still love the waters of home: they have carried my boat on its journey for ten thousand miles.

Li Bai — Seeing a Friend Off
Green hills rise north of the town; a clear stream curves around its eastern wall.
Here we part, and you travel ten thousand miles like a single weed blown away.
Drifting clouds reflect the traveler's thoughts; the setting sun expresses the feelings of an old friend.
We wave and leave each other; our horses whinny as they part.

Li Yi — Meeting My Cousin Again, Then Saying Goodbye
After ten years of war and separation, we meet now that we are grown.
I ask your surname in surprise at first; then, when you give your name, I remember your face from long ago.
We talk about all that has happened since we parted, until the bell sounds under the evening sky.
Tomorrow you will take the Baling road, past one range of autumn mountains after another.

Li Shangyin — Sad Thoughts
The guest leaves and waves lie still beside the railing; cicadas stop singing and dew covers the branches.
At this time I think of you continually; leaning there, I don't notice the hours pass.
The Big Dipper is distant, and spring is over; the messenger staying in Nanling is late.
At the world's edge I keep reading signs in dreams, afraid that you have found a new friend and forgotten me.

Li Shangyin — North of Green Vines
The last sunlight sinks behind the western hills; I visit a monk who lives alone in a thatched hut.
Amid fallen leaves, where is he? The road winds through several layers of cold clouds.
Alone he strikes the bell at the start of night, then rests leaning against his cane.
Within this world of tiny dust, why should I hold on to love or hate?

Li Shangyin — The Cicada
Living high up, it can barely find food; all its angry crying is in vain.
At the fifth watch its call grows faint and nearly stops, while the green tree remains unmoved.
With my lowly official post I drift like a broken twig; the fields of my old home have grown over.
Thank you for reminding me so strongly: my family too has nothing to spare.

Li Shangyin — Wind and Rain
My poem about a treasured sword is a sad one; I seem destined to wander all my life.
Yellow leaves are still beaten by wind and rain, while music plays in fine houses.
New friendships suffer from people's meanness; good fortune has kept me from old friends.
My heart is broken. How many thousands will I pay for Xinfeng wine to ease my sorrow?

Li Shangyin — Falling Flowers
The guests have finally left the high pavilion; flowers fly wildly around the small garden.
They scatter unevenly along the winding lane and follow the last sunlight into the distance.
Heartbroken, I cannot bear to sweep them away; I keep watching for someone who might return.
Their desire to bloom has run out with spring; all they have gained is tears on my clothes.

Du Fu — Climbing Yueyang Tower
I had long heard of Dongting Lake; today I climb Yueyang Tower.
The waters divide Wu and Chu to the southeast; heaven and earth seem to float on them day and night.
Not a word comes from relatives or friends; old and ill, I have only one boat.
North of the mountain passes war goes on; I lean at the railing, tears streaming down my face.

Du Fu — Another Farewell to Lord Yan at Fengji Station
I have come far to see you off; here we part, and the green hills can do nothing to ease my feelings.
When can we hold our cups together again? Only last night the moon accompanied us both.
People in every district sing your praises and hate to see you go; you served honorably under three rulers.
I return alone to the village by the river and spend what remains of my life in loneliness.

Du Fu — Parting from Grand Commandant Fang's Grave
Traveling again in a foreign land, I stop my horse to say goodbye at this lonely grave.
My tears have left no dry earth nearby; above, broken clouds hang in the low sky.
You played chess with me like Xie An and once held your sword for me like Xu Jun.
I see only flowers falling among the trees, and hear orioles calling as I go.

Du Fu — Writing My Thoughts on a Traveling Night
Fine grass on the riverbank stirs in a light wind; a lone night boat carries a tall mast.
Stars hang low over the wide plain; the moon seems to rise from the rushing great river.
Is my name known because of my writing? Surely age and illness forced me out of office.
What am I like, drifting about? A single gull on the sand between earth and sky.

Du Fu — Remembering My Escape from the Capital through the Golden Light Gate and My Later Transfer to Huazhou
On this road I once came back to the rightful ruler;
Northern soldiers then crowded the western outskirts.
The thought still frightens me badly;
My scattered spirit has perhaps not returned.
Now I return to the capital as a close court attendant;
Surely the emperor himself did not order my transfer?
Without talent and growing older each day,
I stop my horse and look toward the capital's thousand gates.

Du Fu — Thinking of My Brothers on a Moonlit Night
Garrison drums have stopped all travel; one wild goose calls in the autumn on the frontier.
From tonight the dew turns white; the moon shines brightest in my hometown.
My brothers are all scattered, and we have no home where I can ask if they live or have died.
The letters I send never get through; and now the fighting has not stopped.

Du Fu — Thinking of Li Bai at the End of the World
A cool wind rises at the world's edge. How are you, my friend?
When will a wild goose bring your message? Autumn waters fill the rivers and lakes.
Writing seems to bring its finest authors bad luck; evil spirits enjoy watching travelers pass by.
You should speak with Qu Yuan's wronged spirit and throw a poem into the Miluo River for him.

Du Fu — Moonlit Night
Tonight's moon over Fuzhou is one that my wife must watch alone in her room.
I pity our little children far away: they still do not understand how to miss Chang'an.
Fragrant mist must wet her hair in its coils; clear light must chill her pale arms.
When can we lean side by side against a light curtain and let the same moon dry our tears?

Du Fu — Spring View
The country lies in ruins, but hills and rivers remain; in the city, spring plants and trees grow thick.
Thinking of the times, I shed tears at flowers; grieving at our separation, I am startled by birds.
Beacon fires of war have burned for three months; a letter from home would be worth ten thousand coins.
I scratch my white hair until it grows thinner, almost too sparse to hold a hairpin.

Du Fu — A Spring Night at the Left Office
Flowers hide the palace side walls at dusk; roosting birds pass with soft cries.
Stars seem to move above the many gates; the moon shines brightly near the palace high in the sky.
Unable to sleep, I listen for the golden gate keys; when the wind blows I imagine the sound of jade horse ornaments.
I have a sealed report to present tomorrow, and keep asking what time it is.

Du Mu — Staying at an Inn
I have no good friend at the travelers' inn; quietly I sit absorbed in thought.
Under the cold lamp I remember earlier days; the cry of a lone goose wakes me from troubled sleep.
A dream of going home lasts until dawn; a letter from home takes a whole year to arrive.
The Xiang River is beautiful in mist and moonlight; at the gate a fishing boat is moored.

Du Xunhe — A Palace Woman's Spring Complaint
My beauty brought me trouble early;
I am too tired even to put on makeup before the mirror.
The ruler's favor does not depend on looks;
How, then, am I supposed to make myself look beautiful?
The wind is warm, and birds call one after another;
The sun is high, and flower shadows grow dense.
Every year I remember my life as a girl by a Yue stream,
Picking lotuses with the others.

Du Shenyan — In Response to Clerk Lu's Early Spring Outing at Jinling
People away from home serving as officials
Are especially surprised by new signs of the season.
Clouds and sunrise come up from the sea at dawn;
Plum blossoms and willows bring spring across the river.
The mild air urges yellow orioles to sing;
Clear light shines on the green water plants.
Suddenly I hear your song in an old style,
And my longing for home nearly brings tears to my clothes.

Shen Quanqi — An Occasional Poem
I hear that at the Yellow Dragon garrison, the troops have not been released for years.
Poor moon above the woman's room: it always shines over the Han army's camp as well.
The young wife's thoughts are of this spring; her husband's feelings were with her last night.
Who will lead troops with banners and drums to capture Dragon City for good?

Meng Haoran — Staying on the Tonglu River, Writing to Old Friends in Guangling
At dusk in the mountains I hear monkeys cry sadly; the great river flows fast through the night.
Wind rattles the leaves on both banks; the moon lights one lonely boat.
Jiande is not my home; I think of old friends in Yangzhou.
I send two streams of tears far away to the other side of the sea.

Meng Haoran — Leaving Wang Wei
How long will I go on alone, returning for nothing day after day?
I want to leave in search of green pastures, but regret parting from an old friend.
Who among those with power would help me? There are few people in the world who understand me.
So I must remain alone and shut the gate of my old home again.

Meng Haoran — Thinking of Home in the Early Cold
Leaves fall and geese migrate south; the north wind is cold over the river.
My home is at a bend in the Xiang River, far beyond the clouds of Chu.
My tears for home have been spent while traveling; I watch a lone sail at the edge of the sky.
I want to ask someone how to cross, but at evening the flat water stretches endlessly before me.

Meng Haoran — Returning to Mount Zhongnan at Year's End
I will not write to the northern palace again; I am going back to my poor home beside the southern mountain.
The wise ruler set me aside because I have no talent; old friends have grown distant because I am often ill.
My white hair warns that old age is coming; spring is near as the old year ends.
With endless worries I cannot sleep; moonlight from the pines falls through my empty window at night.

Meng Haoran — Visiting an Old Friend's Farm
An old friend prepared chicken and millet and invited me to his farm.
Green trees surround the village; blue hills slope beyond the town.
We set out the meal facing the fields and gardens and talk over wine about mulberries and hemp.
When the Double Ninth comes, I will return to see the chrysanthemums.

Meng Haoran — Thinking of the Monk Yuan in Qin During Autumn
I have long wanted a hillside to rest on but cannot afford even a small home there.
The northern land is not where I wish to be; I think of my teacher in the eastern grove.
Gold is spent on firewood as costly as cinnamon; my ambitions fade as the years go by.
A cool wind comes each evening; hearing cicadas only makes me sadder.

Meng Haoran — At Dongting Lake, for Prime Minister Zhang
In the eighth month the lake lies level, joining the empty sky with the highest heaven.
Mist rises over Yunmeng Marsh; waves shake the city of Yueyang.
I want to cross but have no boat or oars; I am ashamed to stay idle in the age of a wise ruler.
I sit watching people fish and can only wish I had a fish myself.

Meng Haoran — Climbing Mount Xian with Friends
Human affairs pass and change; people come and go, and the present becomes the past.
The hills and rivers preserve their beautiful sites; now we climb them in our turn.
The water has fallen and the fishing weir is shallow; in the cold air, Yunmeng Marsh looks deep.
Lord Yang's stone tablet is still there; after reading it, my clothes are wet with tears.

Meng Haoran — A Feast at Daoist Mei's Mountain House
Lying among the woods I was sad that spring was ending; I opened the window to see the beautiful scene.
Suddenly a messenger like a blue bird arrived to invite me into the home of Red Pine, the immortal.
The stove for making elixirs has just been lit; flowers are falling from the immortal peach tree.
If a young face could last forever, why not get drunk on the rosy wine?

Wei Zhuang — Thinking at Night by Zhangtai
The clear zither sounds sad through the long night; its strings carry the sorrow of wind and rain.
By a single lamp I hear Chu horns; the waning moon sets below Zhangtai.
The fragrant grass is fading now, and my old friend still has not arrived.
I cannot send a letter home; autumn geese are turning south again.

Wei Yingwu — Happy to Meet an Old Friend from Liangchuan on the Huai River
We both traveled along the Yangzi and Han and got drunk whenever we met.
Since we parted like drifting clouds, ten years have flowed by like water.
Our laughter and affection are as before, but our hair has thinned and turned gray.
Why have you come back north, to look across the Huai at the autumn hills?

Wei Yingwu — Seeing Li Zhou Off in the Evening Rain
Light rain falls on the Chu River as the evening bell sounds in Jianye.
Sails coming through the mist look heavy; birds flying away through the dimness seem slow.
The river's mouth toward the sea cannot be seen in the distance; trees along the far bank look wet.
As I see you off, I feel endless sadness; my clothes are as wet as if I were standing in fine rain.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang — Visiting Zou and Lu to Honor Confucius
What did the Master spend his life doing,
So restless throughout his age?
This place was once the town of Zou;
His home became a palace of the king of Lu.
He sighed over the phoenix and his own poor fortune;
He grieved for the unicorn, seeing his teaching come to an end.
Now I see offerings between the two pillars;
It must be as it was in his dream.

Ma Dai — Living on the Ba Plain in Autumn
Wind and rain have stopped over the Ba Plain; in the evening I often see lines of geese.
Leaves fall from trees in a foreign land; a traveler sits alone by a cold lamp at night.
White dew drips in the empty garden; beyond a lonely wall lives a monk from the wilds.
I have lived by this country gate for a long time. In what year will I find a way to serve?

Ma Dai — Remembering the Past on the Chu River
Cold, bright dew gathers; the faint sun goes down beyond the hills of Chu.
Monkeys cry in the trees beside Dongting Lake; I am on a boat made of magnolia wood.
A bright moon rises over the broad marsh; blue hills hem in the turbulent current.
I cannot see the Lord of the Clouds; all night I grieve alone for autumn.

Cui Tu — Thoughts on New Year's Eve
The road across the three Ba districts is long; I travel in danger, ten thousand miles from home.
Through broken hills on a night of lingering snow, I face spring alone in a foreign land.
I grow farther from my family and closer to my servants.
How can I bear being adrift when a new year begins tomorrow?

Cui Tu — A Lone Goose
Several flocks have gone home beyond the passes; where is this one shadow going alone?
In evening rain it lost those who called to it; it hesitates before landing in a cold pond.
Low clouds over the island darken its crossing; the cold moon above the pass follows it.
It may never meet an arrow or a hunter's cord, but flying alone is reason enough for fear.

Chang Jian — Written at the Meditation Hall behind Poshansi Temple
At dawn I enter the old temple; the new sunlight shines on the tall woods.
A winding path leads to a quiet spot; flowers and trees grow thick around the meditation rooms.
Light on the mountains makes the birds glad; reflections in the pool clear people's minds.
All other sounds here are still; only the temple bell and stone chime can be heard.

Zhang Jiuling — Looking at the Moon and Thinking of Someone Far Away
The bright moon rises above the sea; far apart as we are, we share this moment.
Separated lovers resent the long night; I think of you all night long.
I put out the candle, loving the room filled with moonlight; I put on my coat and feel the dew getting thick.
I cannot take up the moonlight and give it to you, so I return to bed and hope for a fine dream of our meeting.

Zhang Qiao — Writing of the Frontier
A horn sounds its set notes, breaking the clear autumn stillness; a soldier leans against the garrison tower.
The spring wind blows toward the Green Tomb; the white sun sets over Liangzhou.
No armies block the great desert; a traveler visits the distant border.
May the feelings of the foreign people be like this water and always flow south toward us.

Zhang Ji — A Friend Lost among the Foreign Peoples
The year before last he marched against the Yuezhi, and his whole army was lost at the city wall.
News has stopped between the foreign lands and China; whether he lives or dies, we are parted for a long time.
No one has gathered up the abandoned tents; returning horses recognize the tattered flags.
I want to offer him rites, but wonder whether he is still alive; far away at the edge of the world, I cry for him now.

Xu Hun — Written at Tong Pass Inn on an Autumn Journey to the Capital
Red leaves rustle in the evening; at the long pavilion I drink a gourd of wine.
Last clouds return to Mount Hua; light rain passes over the Zhongtiao Mountains.
Trees follow the far line of the hills; the river's sound travels far toward the sea.
Tomorrow I will reach the emperor's city, but I still dream of fishing and gathering firewood.

Xu Hun — Early Autumn
A clear zither sounds through the long night; a west wind rises in the green vines.
The last fireflies rest among jewel-like dew; the early geese brush past the Milky Way.
Tall trees still have dense leaves at dawn; distant mountains stand out in greater numbers when it clears.
A leaf has fallen in Huainan, and I sense the waves of Dongting Lake.

Wen Tingyun — Seeing Someone Off on a Journey East
Yellow leaves fall by the deserted garrison; you leave the old pass with a free heart.
A strong wind blows over the Hanyang ferry; the first sun shines on the mountains at Yingmen.
How many people are left beside the river? A lone boat returns from the edge of the world.
When will we meet again and drink wine to comfort each other after this parting?

The Monk Jiaoran — Looking for Lu Hongjian and Not Finding Him
Though he moved near the town, a country path leads to his house through mulberry and hemp fields.
Chrysanthemums newly planted by his fence have not yet flowered this autumn.
I knock at the gate and no dog barks; about to leave, I ask the neighbors to the west.
They tell me he has gone into the mountains, and each day he comes home around sunset.

Liu Changqing — Seeking Daoist Chang of South Creek
Along the path he usually takes, I see his footprints on the moss.
White clouds hang above a quiet island; spring grass blocks his shut gate.
After the rain I see the color of pines and follow the mountains to the source of the stream.
The flowers by the creek and the thought of meditation face each other; I too forget all words.

Liu Changqing — A New Year's Poem
Longing for home grows stronger in the new year; alone at the edge of the world, I weep.
I am growing old and living below others; spring reaches home before it reaches a traveler like me.
I spend mornings and evenings with monkeys in the mountains; willows by the river share the wind and mist.
I have already been sent away to Changsha like Jia Yi; how many more years must pass from now?

Liu Changqing — Looking into the Distance from the Temple on Lord Wu's Terrace in Autumn
After leaves fall around the old terrace, I look toward home on an autumn day.
Few people come to the country temple; cloud-covered peaks lie far away across the water.
The setting sun touches the old fort; cold chimes ring throughout the empty woods.
I grieve for what happened to the Southern Dynasties; only the Yangzi is still here today.

Liu Changqing — Seeing General Li Off to His Retirement Home in Hanyang
An exiled general who once marched south and commanded a hundred thousand troops:
Dismissed, he returns to no property; old now, he still loves the age of a wise ruler.
He stood alone and kept all three frontiers quiet; his sword knows he risked his life freely.
On the vast waters of the Yangzi and Han, where will he go at dusk?

Liu Changqing — Seeing Wang Eleven Off on a Journey South
I watch you cross the broad, misty water; I wave my hand, with tears wetting my clothes.
Where does the flying bird vanish? The green hills face me in silence.
A single sail travels far down the Yangzi; the setting sun lights the Five Lakes in spring.
Who sees me here on the river island, sad with longing among the white water plants?

Liu Yuxi — The Shrine of Shu's First Ruler
A hero's spirit fills heaven and earth; after a thousand years it still inspires awe.
His power divided the realm into three parts; his rule restored the old Han currency.
With a good minister he could found a kingdom; his son did not prove worthy like him.
It is sad that the former dancing girls of Shu had to dance before the court of Wei.

Liu Shenxu — Untitled
The path ends among white clouds; spring runs on beside the green creek.
Sometimes fallen flowers arrive, carried far on the fragrant current.
A quiet gate faces the mountain path; a study stands deep among willow trees.
Even by daylight the shade is deep, but clear light falls on my clothes.

Lu Lun — Seeing Li Duan Off
Withered grass covers the old frontier pass; this parting is especially sad.
The road runs out beyond cold clouds; one comes home through the evening snow.
I lost my parents young and became a traveler early; amid so many troubles I met you late.
I cover my tears as I look toward you in vain; where amid this war and dust can we hope to meet?

Qian Qi — Seeing a Monk Return to Japan
You stayed in this great country as circumstances led you; your journey here must have felt like a dream.
Across the distant sea that seems to float against the sky, the boat that carries your faith leaves this world behind.
The moon reflected in water helps you meditate; fish and dragons hear the sound of Buddhist chanting.
I think especially of your single lamp, shining in your eyes over ten thousand miles.

Qian Qi — From My Study at the Valley Entrance, to Adviser Yang
Springs and ravines surround my thatched house; vines make a curtain against clouds and sunset colors.
I love bamboo after a new rain, and the mountains in the evening sun.
Egrets at rest usually settle early; autumn flowers take longer to fall.
My boy sweeps the vine-covered path; yesterday I arranged to meet an old friend here.

Luo Binwang — On the Cicada in Prison
In the west, the cicada sings its song of autumn;
For a prisoner wearing the southern cap, thoughts of home grow stronger.
How can I bear the sight of its dark head
As I sing, now that my own hair is white?
The dew is heavy and it can hardly fly forward;
The wind is strong and its song is easily lost.
No one believes I have remained pure;
Who will tell others what is in my heart?

Dai Shulun — An Unexpected Gathering with Old Friends from My River Home at an Inn
It is autumn and the moon is full again; at night the city's many gates stand dark.
We meet again, as we once did south of the river; I almost think we met in a dream.
Wind shakes the branches and startles roosting magpies; dew-covered grass hides insects in the cold.
Traveling far from home, we could go on drinking; I ask you to stay because I dread the bell at dawn.

Han Hong — To Cheng Jin, in Response to His Gift about an Autumn Night
A long bamboo mat catches the early wind; soft moonlight falls on the empty city.
One goose crosses the autumn Milky Way; in a thousand homes mallets beat clothes at night.
The season seems late now, and even lying down I feel far from what I hoped for.
I have been reciting your fine lines until, without noticing, I hear the crows begin to call.

### Seven-Character Regulated Verse

Yuan Zhen — Mourning My Wife, First Poem
You were Lord Xie's youngest and favorite daughter, but after you married a poor man like Qianlou, everything went wrong.
When you saw I had no clothes, you searched through the basket; when I begged for wine, you pulled out your gold hairpin to pay for it.
You were content with wild greens for our meals, with long bean shoots; we relied on fallen leaves from the old locust tree for firewood.
Today my salary is over a hundred thousand, and all I can do for you is arrange offerings and memorial rites.

Yuan Zhen — Mourning My Wife, Second Poem
What we used to say in jest about dying has all come before me today.
I have given away your clothes, nearly all of them; your sewing still remains, and I cannot bear to open it.
Thinking of our old life, I still care for the servants; I have even sent you money and gifts because I dreamed of you.
I know everyone feels this grief, but for a couple who lived together in poverty, every memory hurts.

Yuan Zhen — Mourning My Wife, Third Poem
Sitting alone, I grieve for you and for myself. How long is even a hundred years?
Deng You had no son and came to accept his fate; Pan Yue mourned his wife, though words did him no good.
What hope is there in sharing a dark grave? A reunion in another life is even harder to expect.
All I can do is keep my eyes open through the night to repay you for all the years you never stopped worrying.

Wang Wei — In Response to Jia's Poem on the Early Court at Daming Palace
The timekeeper in his red cap announces the dawn watch; the keeper of clothes presents a green cloud-patterned coat.
The high gates of the palace open; officials dressed for court from every land bow to the emperor's crown.
The sun has just reached the ceremonial palm when it moves; incense smoke floats beside the dragon embroidered on his robe.
After court, you must write a decree on five-colored paper; your pendants sound as you return to the secretariat.

Wang Wei — For Official Guo
The palace gateway and high pavilion glow in the last light; peach and plum trees cast shade while willow fluff flies.
Sparse bells sound in the forbidden grounds as evening reaches the officials' homes; birds call in the ministry, with few clerks about.
Each morning your jade pendants sway as you hurry to the golden hall; each evening you bring an imperial message and bow at the decorated gate.
I would like to follow you, but I am old; illness will let me put aside my court robes.

Wang Wei — Written at the Emperor's Command in Response to His Poem on a Rainy Spring View from the Gallery between Penglai and Xingqing
The Wei River winds along the old defenses of Qin; Yellow Mountain once curved by the Han palace.
The imperial carriage emerges far beyond the willows at a thousand gates; from the raised gallery the emperor looks back at the flowers in the upper gardens.
Clouds surround the twin towers of the imperial city; spring trees rise amid ten thousand homes in the rain.
He has come to follow the season's warm energy and its proper duties, not to enjoy the beauty on an imperial outing.

Wang Wei — At My Wangchuan Estate after Long Rain
In the empty rainy woods, cooking fires are slow to start; wild greens and millet are cooked for workers in the eastern field.
White egrets fly above the broad wet rice fields; yellow orioles sing in the dark summer trees.
In the mountains I practice stillness and watch the morning hibiscus; beneath the pines I eat simple food and pick dew-covered mallow.
The old countryman no longer argues with others over where to sit; why should the seagulls still suspect me?

Bai Juyi — Looking at the Moon and Writing to My Scattered Brothers and Sisters after War and Famine
In troubled times and a year of famine, our family's livelihood is gone; my brothers travel in different directions.
After the fighting our fields and gardens lie empty; our family wanders along the roads.
Separated, we are like wild geese a thousand miles apart; uprooted, like tumbleweeds scattered in the autumn wind.
As we all look at the bright moon, we must all be crying; in one night our longing for home is the same in five places.

Cen Shen — In Response to Jia Zhi's Poem on the Early Court at Daming Palace
A rooster crows on the purple road in the cold light of dawn; orioles sing in the capital as spring colors fade.
The dawn bell at the golden palace opens thousands of doors; on jade steps the imperial guard surrounds the officials.
Flowers meet their swords and pendants as the stars begin to set; willows brush the banners before the dew has dried.
Only you, a guest at the Phoenix Pool, have written a spring song that is hard for anyone to answer.

Li Bai — Climbing Phoenix Terrace at Jinling
Phoenixes once came to Phoenix Terrace; they have gone, and the empty terrace overlooks the river flowing on.
Flowers and grass cover the paths in Wu's palace; the noble officials of Jin are now buried on old hills.
Three mountains are half hidden beyond the blue sky; two streams part around Egret Island.
Clouds always cover the sun; I cannot see Chang'an, and that makes me sad.

Li Shangyin — Untitled
Meeting is hard and parting is hard too; the east wind has weakened and the flowers are dying.
The spring silkworm's thread runs out only when it dies; the candle's tears dry only when it has burned to ash.
At dawn, looking in the mirror, you must worry that your dark hair has changed; reciting verse at night, you must feel the moonlight's cold.
The immortal mountain is not far from here; let the blue bird kindly go and look for you.

Li Shangyin — Untitled, First Poem
The fragrant silk with a phoenix-tail pattern is thin, though folded many times; late at night she sews the blue-patterned round canopy.
She makes a fan shaped like the moon but cannot hide her embarrassment; his carriage passes with a sound like thunder, and they cannot speak.
Once I was alone as the lamp's gold wick burned down; there was no news at all when the pomegranate flowers turned red.
My dappled horse is tied only to the bank under the willows; where in the southwest can I wait for a favorable wind?

Li Shangyin — Untitled, Second Poem
Heavy curtains hang low in Mo Chou's hall; after she lies down, the clear night seems to go on forever.
The goddess's whole life was only a dream; the young woman at home has no husband.
The wind and waves show no mercy to the fragile water chestnut; who lets moonlit dew make the cinnamon leaves fragrant?
Even if longing does no good at all, I can still feel sad in my foolish love.

Li Shangyin — The Patterned Zither
Why does this beautiful zither have fifty strings? Each string and bridge brings back my best years.
Zhuangzi dreamed at dawn and lost track of whether he was a butterfly; Emperor Wang put his longing for spring into the cuckoo's call.
Under the moon over the vast sea, pearls hold tears; in the warmth of the sun at Lantian, jade seems to give off mist.
Could these feelings have waited to become memories? Even then they left me at a loss.

Li Shangyin — The Sui Palace
At Ziquan the palace buildings are locked amid mist and sunset clouds;
He wanted to make Wucheng the seat of his empire.
If the imperial seal had not passed to the man with a sun-like forehead,
His brocade sails might have gone on to the end of the earth.
Today there are no fireflies in the rotting grass;
The weeping willows have held evening crows through all the years.
If he should meet the last ruler of Chen below the earth,
Would it be right to ask him again about “Flowers in the Back Courtyard”?

Li Shangyin — Untitled, First Poem
You said you would come, but they were empty words; you left without a trace. The moon slants over the tower as the fifth-watch bell rings.
In my dream I cry over our distant parting and cannot call you back; hurriedly I write a letter before the ink is dark enough.
Candlelight partly lights the gold kingfisher design; musk incense drifts faintly across the embroidered lotus.
Liu already complained that the immortal mountain was far away; now ten thousand more ranges lie beyond it!

Li Shangyin — Untitled, Second Poem
The east wind rustles and fine rain comes; light thunder sounds beyond the lotus pond.
A golden toad holds the lock as incense burns inside; a jade tiger draws the rope back from the well.
Lady Jia peered through the curtain at young Han; the goddess of the Luo left a pillow for the talented prince of Wei.
Do not let feelings of love open like flowers in spring: each inch of longing turns into an inch of ash.

Li Shangyin — The Planning Post Station
Monkeys and birds still seem to fear his written orders;
Wind and clouds still seem to protect the camp defenses.
The great commander used his inspired plans in vain;
In the end a king surrendered and rode away in a post carriage.
His talent matched Guan Zhong and Yue Yi;
But what could he do after Guan Yu and Zhang Fei died?
In later years, when I pass his shrine at Jinli,
I sing “Liangfu” and my regret is still not spent.

Li Shangyin — Untitled
Last night's stars and last night's wind were west of the painted tower and east of the cinnamon hall.
Our bodies have no bright phoenix wings to fly together, but our hearts meet at one point, like the two parts of a rhinoceros horn.
Across the tables we passed the hidden hook, warmed by spring wine; in teams we guessed covered objects under red candlelight.
Sadly, I heard the drum calling me to work; I rode to the archives like a drifting weed.

Li Shangyin — Spring Rain
In my white unlined robe I lie down sadly in the new spring;
At White Gate all is lonely, and nothing goes as I wish.
Across the rain I look toward the red tower and feel cold;
A lantern sways by the beaded curtain as I return alone.
On the long road you must grieve that spring is growing late;
In the remaining hours of night I still dream of you faintly.
How can I send you this letter sealed with jade earrings?
Across ten thousand miles of cloud, a single wild goose flies.

Li Qi — Seeing Wei Wan Off to the Capital
This morning I heard a traveler's farewell song; last night the first light frost came as he crossed the river.
The cries of wild geese are hard to hear when you are sad; how much harder it is to cross cloud-covered mountains away from home.
The trees by the pass warn that cold is near; in the imperial gardens, the sound of clothes being beaten grows louder toward evening.
When you see Chang'an and its places of pleasure, don't let the years slip away for nothing.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, First Poem
Torn apart in the war and dust of the northeast, I have wandered through the southwest under the open sky.
Among the Three Gorges' towers I have stayed through many days and nights; among the Five Streams' people in their own clothes, I have lived with cloud and mountain.
The foreign rebels proved disloyal to their ruler; the poet grieves for his age and still cannot return.
Yu Xin's life was full of sadness; in his old age his poems moved the lands along the river and the passes.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Second Poem
Seeing the leaves fall, I understand Song Yu's sadness; that elegant, learned poet is also my teacher.
I look back over a thousand years and shed tears; we belong to different, unhappy ages.
His old home among rivers and hills survives only in his writing; was the deserted terrace's cloud-and-rain tale only a dream?
Most of all the Chu palace is gone, and even the boatmen who point it out today are unsure.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Third Poem
Countless hills and valleys run toward Jingmen; the village where the Beautiful Consort grew up still stands.
She left the purple palace for the northern desert; only her green tomb remains facing the evening.
The emperor knew her springtime face only from a portrait; her spirit returns in vain on moonlit nights, with her jade ornaments ringing.
For a thousand years the lute has played the language of the northern people, clearly voicing her grief in its music.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Fourth Poem
The ruler of Shu looked toward Wu and came to the Three Gorges; he died at Yong'an Palace.
I imagine his green imperial banners in these empty hills; the jade palace is now a deserted country shrine.
Water birds nest in the cedars and pines of his old temple; village elders come for the seasonal rites.
The shrine of his minister Zhuge is always close by; ruler and minister are honored together in the same ceremonies.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Fifth Poem
Zhuge's great name reaches throughout the world; his portrait as chief minister looks dignified and noble.
His plans dealt with a realm divided in three; through all ages he stands as high as a feather in the sky.
His talent was equal to that of Yi Yin and Lü Shang; even Xiao He and Cao Can seem lesser beside his calm command.
But as fortune shifted, the Han could not be restored; determined to the end, he died worn out by military affairs.

Du Fu — Hearing That the Government Army Has Recovered Henan and Hebei
Suddenly word comes from beyond the mountains that Jibei has been recovered; as soon as I hear it, tears soak my clothes.
I look back at my wife and children: where is their sadness now? I roll up my books at random, almost mad with joy.
By daylight I must sing loudly and drink plenty of wine; with spring as my companion, I can go home.
I'll go straight through Ba Gorge and Wu Gorge, then down to Xiangyang and on toward Luoyang.

Du Fu — Staying at Headquarters
In clear autumn the plane trees by the headquarters well are cold;
I stay alone in the river city as the candle burns down.
All night the horn sounds sadly, as if speaking to itself;
The moon looks beautiful high in the sky, but who is there to see it?
Years of war have cut off letters and news;
The passes lie desolate, and travel by land is hard.
I have borne ten years of being alone;
I make myself settle on this one branch for a little peace.

Du Fu — Night in the Watchtower
At year's end the changing seasons shorten the days; far from home, snow and frost clear from the cold night.
In the last night watch drums and horns sound sad and strong; the stars and the Milky Way shake in the waters of the Three Gorges.
In the countryside, a thousand households cry at news of war; in several places fishermen and woodcutters sing the songs of local peoples.
The Crouching Dragon and the Leaping Horse are both dust now; human affairs and news from friends fade into silence.

Du Fu — Climbing the Heights
The wind blows hard, the sky is high, and the monkeys cry sadly;
Birds wheel above the clear island and white sand.
Endless falling leaves rustle down;
The unending Yangzi rolls on.
Ten thousand miles away from home, I always spend autumn as a traveler;
In my old age, often ill, I climb the terrace alone.
Hard times and sorrow have covered my temples with white hair;
Broken down, I have lately had to give up my cup of rough wine.

Du Fu — Climbing the Tower
Flowers near the high tower hurt my heart as a traveler; I climb it amid troubles throughout the land.
Spring color along the Jin River fills the world; clouds over Yulei Mountain change from ancient times to now.
The imperial court in the north will not change; the raiders in the western hills must not invade us.
Poor last ruler, you still have your shrine; at dusk I sing “Liangfu” for a while.

Du Fu — The Minister of Shu
Where can I find the prime minister's shrine?
Beyond the Brocade City, thick cypress trees surround it.
Green grass by the steps has its own spring color;
A yellow oriole sings beautifully, unheard behind the leaves.
Three times the ruler visited to seek his plans for the world;
He served two rulers, giving his old heart to their founding and survival.
He died before his military campaign succeeded,
Leaving heroes forever with tears soaking their clothes.

Du Fu — A Guest Comes
South and north of my house there is spring water everywhere;
All I see, day after day, are the gulls that come here.
I have never swept the flower-lined path for a guest;
Today, for you, I open my rough gate for the first time.
The market is far away, so our meal has no variety;
We are poor, so the wine in the jar is only an old brew.
If you're willing to drink with the old neighbor,
I'll call him over the fence and we can finish the rest.

Du Fu — Looking into the Distance
Snow lies on the three unusual garrisons in the western hills; to the south are the clear river at Nanpu and the Ten Thousand Mile Bridge.
War across the country has separated me from my brothers; I cry alone, far away at the edge of the world.
Old age has brought me many illnesses; I have not done the smallest thing to repay the imperial court.
Sometimes I ride beyond the town and look far into the distance; I cannot bear how bleak human affairs grow each day.

Liu Zongyuan — From the Tower at Liuzhou, Writing to the Governors of Zhang, Ting, Feng, and Lian
The high tower on the city wall looks out over the vast wilderness; sad thoughts stretch as far as sea and sky.
A fierce wind tosses the lotus-covered water; thick rain slants across the vine-covered wall.
Mountain trees hide the view a thousand miles away; the river bends like a stomach twisting nine times.
We came together to this land of tattooed southern peoples, yet letters between us are still delayed from one district to another.

Huangfu Ran — Thoughts in Spring
Orioles sing and swallows call to announce a new year; but how many thousand miles away are Mayi and Longdui?
My home in Qin's city stands near the Han palace grounds; my heart follows the bright moon to the northern lands.
Words woven in brocade on my loom tell of my lasting sorrow; upstairs, flower-covered branches seem to laugh at me for sleeping alone.
Let me ask General Dou: when will you bring your banners home after carving your victory on Mount Yanran?

Wei Yingwu — To Li Dan and Yuan Xi
Last year we parted among the flowers; now the flowers have opened again and a year has passed.
I cannot foresee what life will bring; overcome by spring sadness, I fall asleep alone.
Often ill, I long for the fields back home; when people leave my town, I am ashamed to take my salary.
I hear you plan to come and see me; how many times have I watched the full moon from the western tower?

Zu Yong — Looking toward Jizhou Gate
A look toward the Yan terrace startles this traveler: flutes and drums sound loudly in the Han general's camp.
Cold light from piled snow stretches ten thousand miles; at dawn tall banners stir along all three borders.
Beacons on the battlefield shine beneath the northern moon; cloudy hills by the sea surround Jizhou city.
I was no young clerk who threw away his writing brush, but I too want to win honor by volunteering for the army.

Qin Taoyu — A Poor Girl
Behind a rough door, she has never known the scent of fine silk; the thought of relying on a good matchmaker only hurts her more.
Who loves her graceful bearing and high standards? Everyone admires the day's fashion for simple hair and makeup.
She dares say her ten fingers are especially skilled, but she will not compete at painting her eyebrows long.
Year after year she has to work gold thread, sewing wedding clothes for other women.

Gao Shi — Seeing Off Magistrate Li, Exiled to the Gorges, and Magistrate Wang, Exiled to Changsha
Friends, how do you feel as you leave? I stop my horse, hold my cup and ask about the places of exile.
The monkeys' cries in Wu Gorge will bring you several lines of tears; how many letters will the returning geese bring from Hengyang?
The autumn sky is far above the river with green maples; old trees stand thin beside Baidi City.
Today our enlightened age shows much kindness, like rain and dew; don't hesitate over this short separation.

Cui Shu — Climbing the Terrace for Viewing Immortals on the Ninth Day, for Magistrate Liu
Emperor Wen of Han built this high terrace; today I climb it as the dawn brightens.
The cloud-covered mountains of the three Jin regions all face north; wind and rain from the two imperial tombs come from the east.
Who could have recognized the keeper of the pass gate? The immortal old man by the river will not return.
For now I want to find the magistrate of Pengze nearby and happily share cups of chrysanthemum wine.

Cui Hao — Yellow Crane Tower
A man in the past rode a yellow crane away; only Yellow Crane Tower is left here.
The yellow crane has never come back; for a thousand years the white clouds have drifted on.
On a clear day I can make out trees across the river in Hanyang and thick sweet grass on Parrot Island.
At dusk, where is the road home? Mist on the river makes me sad.

Cui Hao — Passing Mount Hua
High Mount Hua looks down on the capital near Xianyang; its three peaks beyond the sky seem beyond any carving.
Clouds are about to clear before Emperor Wu's shrine; rain has just stopped over the Immortal's Palm.
To the north, river and hills border Qin's dangerous passes; to the west, roadside trees run toward the flat Han altars.
Let me ask the travelers after fame and wealth: why not learn how to live forever in this place?

Wen Tingyun — Crossing South of Lizhou
Calm water and open sky face the slanting sunlight; curved islands fade into the green hills.
A horse neighs among the waves as the boat rows away; people rest by the willows, waiting for the ferry to return.
Gulls scatter over clumps of grass on the sand; one egret flies above miles of fields beside the river.
Who understands how to take a boat like Fan Li, and forget worldly schemes alone among the misty waters of the Five Lakes?

Wen Tingyun — The Shrine of Su Wu
Su Wu broke down before the Han envoy; his old shrine and tall trees seem distant and strange.
No geese come from beyond the clouds under the moon in the northern sky; sheep return across the ridge amid the mist of frontier grass.
On his return the palace towers were no longer those he had left; when he departed, he was a young man wearing his official cap and sword.
At Maoling he found no title of marquis to receive; before autumn waves he wept over the river that flows away.

Liu Changqing — Parting Again from Officials Xue Six and Liu Eight at Jiangzhou
Who would have thought my life would receive a favorable imperial order? From the world's events I have only learned to sing and drink.
Above the river, northern geese pass through the bright moonlight; south of the Huai, trees shed their leaves among the many Chu mountains.
I am glad to be near a place to withdraw to; but when I look at my reflection, what can I do about my white hair?
Today, old and feeble, I am rejected by everyone; I am ashamed that you still tell me to take care among the wind and waves.

Liu Changqing — Passing Jia Yi's House in Changsha
He stayed here for three years in exile as an official; across all the ages only sorrow for this visitor to Chu remains.
Alone I search through autumn grass after the man has gone; in the cold woods I see nothing but the setting sun.
Though Emperor Wen of Han was wise, his favor was still thin; the Xiang River cares nothing for anyone's lament.
Amid these quiet hills and falling leaves, I grieve for you: why were you sent to the edge of the world?

Liu Changqing — Looking toward Yueyang from Parrot Island on My Way from Xiakou, to Minister Yuan
There are no waves or mist along the river islands; my thoughts of you stretch even farther across the Chu country.
At sunset birds cross slantwise above Hankou; the autumn waters of Dongting Lake meet the distant sky.
At the lonely city behind the ridge, a horn sounds in the cold; I moor my boat at night beside a lone tree on the river.
Jia Yi wrote to the emperor out of concern for the Han; exiled to Changsha, he is pitied in every age.

Liu Yuxi — Thinking of the Past at Mount Xisai
Wang Jun's tall warships sailed down from Yizhou, and Jinling's royal power suddenly faded.
A thousand-fathom iron chain sank to the riverbed; a white flag of surrender rose over Stone City.
How many times have people mourned what happened long ago? The mountain still stands beside the cold current.
Now the whole land is one home; autumn reeds rustle among the old fortifications.

Lu Lun — Stopping at Ezhou in the Evening
When the clouds clear I see Hanyang City far away, but my lone sail still has a full day's travel to go.
Merchants sleep by day, showing that the waves are calm; boatmen talk at night, and I know the tide is rising.
My gray temples meet autumn in the three Xiang riverlands; under the bright moon I long to return across ten thousand miles.
War has destroyed the livelihood I once had; how much more can I bear the drums of war sounding on the river?

Qian Qi — For Secretary Pei at Court
In the second month yellow orioles fly over the upper grove; at dawn the forbidden palace lies dark in the spring city.
The bells of Changle fade beyond the flowers; the willows by Dragon Pool look deeper green in the rain.
The warm spring cannot ease my sorrow at having no prospects; I still long to serve the ruler in the high court.
For ten years I have offered poems without finding favor; I am ashamed to face your fine official cap with my white hair.

Xue Feng — Palace Song
In the twelve towers all the women put on morning makeup; at the Tower for Viewing Immortals they look out for the ruler.
The linked gold beast heads holding the locks are cold; water drips from the bronze dragon through the long daytime watch.
After arranging her hair in high coils, she looks again in the mirror; before changing her silk clothes, she adds more perfume.
She peers toward the curtains opening in the main hall, where palace servants in robes and trousers sweep the imperial bed.

Han Hong — The Immortal's Temple
At the immortal terrace I first see the five-towered building;
The scene is chilly as last night's rain comes to an end.
Distant mountains connect to Qin's trees at dusk;
Nearby, the sound of beating cloth announces autumn at the Han palace.
The shadows of scattered pines fall across the quiet, empty altar;
Small cave entrances lie still amid the scent of fine grass.
Why seek a place beyond the world somewhere else?
This world has its own land of immortals.

### Five-Character Quatrains

Yuan Zhen — The Old Palace
The old travel palace stands deserted; palace flowers bloom red with no one near.
A palace woman with white hair is still there, sitting at ease and talking about Emperor Xuanzong.

Wang Zhihuan — Climbing the Stork Tower
The white sun sets behind the hills; the Yellow River flows into the sea.
If you want to see a thousand miles farther, climb another floor.

Wang Jian — A Newly Married Woman
On the third day she enters the kitchen, washes her hands and makes soup.
She doesn't yet know her mother-in-law's taste, so she has her husband's younger sister try it first.

Wang Wei — Thinking of You
Red beans grow in the south; how many branches do they put out in spring?
I hope you pick a great many; they remind people of those they miss most.

Wang Wei — An Occasional Poem
You come from my hometown, so you should know how things are there.
When you came past my patterned window, had the winter plum tree bloomed yet?

Wang Wei — Deer Enclosure
There is no one to be seen on the empty mountain; I hear only the sound of voices.
The reflected sunlight enters the deep woods and shines again on the green moss.

Wang Wei — Pavilion in the Bamboo
I sit alone among dense bamboo, playing the zither and calling out for a long time.
Nobody in the deep woods knows I'm here; the bright moon comes to shine on me.

Wang Wei — Farewell
After seeing you off in the mountains, I shut my brushwood door at dusk.
Next year the spring grass will grow green. Will you come back?

Bai Juyi — Asking Liu Nineteen
The newly brewed wine has green bubbles,
And a small stove made of red clay is burning.
It's getting late and looks like snow.
Can you come have a cup?

A Westerner — Song of Geshu
The seven stars of the Big Dipper stand high; Geshu wears his sword at night.
Even now those watching for a chance to graze horses dare not cross Lin Tao.

Li Bai — Thoughts on a Quiet Night
I see moonlight before my bed;
I think it may be frost on the ground.
I lift my head to look at the moon over the mountain;
I lower it and think of home.

Li Bai — Resentment
A beautiful woman rolls up her beaded curtain; she sits deep inside, frowning.
I see only that tears have wet her face; I do not know whom she resents.

Li Shangyin — Climbing Leyou Plain
At dusk I feel uneasy and drive my carriage up the old plain.
The setting sun is endlessly beautiful, but evening is close.

Li Duan — Listening to the Zither
The zither sounds, with its gold-colored bridges; pale hands play in front of the jade room.
She wants Zhou to look at her, so she deliberately strikes a wrong note now and then.

Li Pin — Crossing the Han River
Beyond the mountains, letters from home stopped;
I passed the winter and then the spring.
The closer I get to home, the more afraid I am;
I dare not ask anyone coming from there for news.

Du Fu — The Eight Formations
His achievements surpassed the three divided kingdoms; his Eight Formations made his name.
The river flows, but the stones do not move; his lasting regret was failing to conquer Wu.

Meng Haoran — Spending the Night on the Jiande River
I move the boat to moor at a misty island; at dusk my worries as a traveler return.
The open fields make the sky look lower than the trees; in the clear river the moon seems close to me.

Meng Haoran — Spring Dawn
I slept through the arrival of spring dawn; everywhere I hear birds calling.
Last night there was wind and rain. How many flowers have fallen?

Jin Changxu — A Spring Complaint
Drive away the yellow orioles; don't let them sing on the branches.
Their singing wakes me from my dream, before I can reach Liaoxi.

Liu Zongyuan — Snow on the River
Across a thousand mountains not a bird flies; on ten thousand paths there are no human tracks.
A single boat holds an old man in a straw raincoat and hat, fishing alone on a snowy, freezing river.

Wei Yingwu — To Official Qiu on an Autumn Night
I think of you on this autumn night;
I take a walk and speak verses in the cool air.
Pine nuts fall on the empty mountain;
You, living alone, must still be awake.

Zu Yong — Looking toward the Snow on Mount Zhongnan
The northern slopes of Zhongnan look beautiful; snow piles up to the edges of the clouds.
After the sky clears, light shines above the woods; the city grows colder at dusk.

Zhang Hu — He Manzi
My homeland is three thousand miles away;
I have been in the deep palace for twenty years.
At a single singing of “He Manzi,”
Tears fall from both my eyes before you, my lord.

Jia Dao — Looking for a Recluse and Not Finding Him
Under the pines I ask a boy. He says his master went to gather herbs.
“He's somewhere on this mountain, but the clouds are thick and I don't know where.”

Pei Di — Seeing Cui Jiu Off
Go back to the mountains, whether deep or shallow;
Make sure you enjoy the beauty of their hills and valleys.
Don't be like the man from Wuling
Who visited Peach Blossom Spring only for a while.

Liu Changqing — Seeing Lingche Off
The bamboo-grove temple stands dark green; its evening bell sounds from far away.
Carrying his straw hat in the setting sun, he returns alone into the distant green hills.

Liu Changqing — Playing the Zither
The seven strings give a clear sound; I listen quietly to the cold wind in the pines.
I love this old tune myself, but few people play it now.

Liu Changqing — Seeing a Monk Off
A lone cloud and a wild crane: how could they stay among people?
Don't buy a place on Mount Wozhou; people already know where it is.

Quan Deyu — A Poem in the Jade Terrace Style
My skirt's ties came undone last night;
Today a lucky spider flies nearby.
I must not put away my makeup;
Could my husband be coming home?

### Seven-Character Quatrains

Wang Changling — Seeing Xin Jian Off at Furong Tower
Cold rain covered the river as it entered Wu at night; at dawn, when I saw my guest off, the Chu hills stood alone.
If friends and relatives in Luoyang ask about me, tell them my heart is as clear as ice in a jade vessel.

Wang Changling — A Wife's Regret
A young wife in her room had never known sorrow; dressed up one spring day, she climbed the green tower.
Suddenly she saw the willows along the road and regretted sending her husband away to earn a noble title.

Wang Changling — Song of the Spring Palace
Last night the wind opened peach blossoms by the uncovered well; the moon stood high over the front hall of Weiyang Palace.
A singer and dancer from Pingyang has just gained the ruler's favor; outside the curtains, in the spring cold, he gives her a brocade robe.

Wang Wei — Thinking of My Brothers East of the Mountains on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month
Alone in a foreign place, I am a stranger; at every festival I miss my family all the more.
Far away, I know my brothers are climbing the heights with dogwood in their hair, but one of us is missing.

Wang Han — Song of Liangzhou
Fine grape wine fills cups that glow at night; just as we go to drink, a lute urges us to mount our horses.
Don't laugh if we lie drunk on the battlefield. How many have ever returned from war?

Bai Juyi — Palace Song
Tears soak my silk handkerchief; I cannot fall asleep and dream.
Deep into the night I hear songs being rehearsed in the front hall.
I have lost the ruler's favor before my beauty has faded;
I lean against the incense burner and sit there until dawn.

Zhu Qingyu — In the Palace
During the flowering season, the courtyard gate remains shut and quiet;
Two beautiful women stand together by a fine pavilion.
One wants to speak of palace affairs, full of feeling,
But she does not dare speak in front of the parrot.

Zhu Qingyu — To Zhang of the Water Department Just Before the Examination
Last night the red candles burned out in the bridal chamber; at dawn the bride will greet her husband's parents in the hall.
After putting on makeup, she quietly asks her husband: “Are my eyebrows painted in the fashion they like?”

Cen Shen — Meeting a Messenger Going to the Capital
I look east toward home down an endless road; both my sleeves are wet with tears that will not dry.
We meet on horseback, and I have no paper or brush. Please tell them I am safe.

Li Bai — Seeing Meng Haoran Off to Guangling
My old friend says goodbye in the west at Yellow Crane Tower;
Amid mist and spring blossoms, he goes down to Yangzhou in March.
The distant shape of his lone sail vanishes past the green hills;
I see only the Yangzi flowing to the edge of the sky.

Li Bai — Going Down to Jiangling
In the morning I leave Baidi among colored clouds;
In one day I reach Jiangling, a thousand miles away.
The monkeys on both banks have not stopped calling,
But my light boat has already passed ten thousand layers of mountains.

Li Yi — Hearing a Flute at Night on the Surrender City Wall
The sand before Huile Peak looks like snow; moonlight below Surrender City looks like frost.
Somewhere a reed flute is playing; all night every soldier looks toward home.

Li Shangyin — Jia Yi
In the Xuanshi chamber the emperor called for a wise man and summoned an exiled minister; Jia Yi's talent was beyond compare.
How sad that the emperor leaned forward in the middle of the night, only to ask about spirits rather than the people's lives.

Li Shangyin — The Sui Palace
The emperor traveled south on a whim, without making security preparations;
Inside the palace, who took notice of the letters advising against it?
Throughout the land in the spring wind, people cut up imperial brocade;
Half became saddlecloths, half became sails.

Li Shangyin — The Jade Pool
At the Jade Pool the Queen Mother opened her patterned window;
The song of Yellow Bamboo sounded painfully across the earth.
King Mu's eight horses could travel thirty thousand miles in a day;
Why did he never come back?

Li Shangyin — Chang'e
Candle shadows deepen against the mica screen;
The Milky Way slowly sinks, and the morning stars fade.
Chang'e must regret stealing the drug of eternal life,
Alone with the blue sea and sky in her thoughts every night.

Li Shangyin — Writing North on a Rainy Night
You ask when I'll return, but I do not know when;
Night rain in the Ba mountains is swelling the autumn pools.
When will we trim the candle together by the west window,
And talk about this rainy night in the Ba mountains?

Li Shangyin — To Official Linghu
Clouds over Mount Song and trees in Qin have separated us for so long;
Your letter came from far away, carried like two carp.
Don't ask about your old guest from Liang Garden:
Here at Maoling, like Sima Xiangru, I am ill in the autumn rain.

Li Shangyin — Because of This
Because there is such beauty behind the cloud-patterned screen,
I dread the spring nights as the cold leaves the capital.
For no good reason I married a man with a gold-turtle badge,
And waste our scented quilt when he must attend the early court.

Du Fu — Meeting Li Guinian South of the River
I often saw you at Prince Qi's home and heard you perform many times at Cui Jiu's house.
Now, amid the beautiful scenery south of the river, I meet you again when the flowers are falling.

Du Mu — At Parting, First Poem
She is graceful and slender, just over thirteen,
Like a cardamom bud at the start of the second month.
Along the ten miles of Yangzhou streets in the spring wind,
None of the women behind the raised beaded curtains can match her.

Du Mu — At Parting, Second Poem
I care so much that I seem not to care at all;
Before the wine cup I find I cannot smile.
The candle has a wick, as if it too feels sad at parting,
And sheds tears for us until morning.

Du Mu — Golden Valley Garden
All its splendor has scattered like fragrant dust;
The water flows on without caring, and the grass grows green each spring.
At dusk, in the east wind, birds call sadly;
The falling flowers still look like the woman who fell from the tower.

Du Mu — To Han Chuo, Official in Yangzhou
Green hills show faintly, the waters stretch far away;
Autumn is nearly over, but grass south of the river has not withered.
On a moonlit night at the Twenty-Four Bridges,
Where are you, handsome friend, teaching someone to play the flute?

Du Mu — Looking Back
I wandered aimlessly with wine along the rivers and lakes;
There were women with slender Chu waists, light enough to dance on a palm.
Ten years in Yangzhou seem like a dream from which I have woken;
All I gained was a reputation for being heartless in the pleasure houses.

Du Mu — Autumn Evening
The light of a silver candle makes the painted screen look cold;
She bats at fireflies with a light silk fan.
At night the palace steps are as cool as water;
She lies watching the stars of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl.

Du Mu — Climbing Leyou Plain Before Leaving for Wuxing
In peaceful times, finding pleasure in doing nothing means I have no ability; I love idle clouds and the quiet life of monks.
I am about to take my official banner away to the rivers and sea; from Leyou Plain I look toward Emperor Taizong's tomb.

Du Mu — Red Cliff
A broken halberd lay buried in the sand, its iron not yet rusted away; I polished and washed it and recognized that it came from an earlier age.
If the east wind had not helped Zhou Yu, the two Qiao sisters would have been locked deep inside the Bronze Sparrow Tower in spring.

Du Mu — Mooring on the Qinhuai River
Mist covers the cold water, moonlight covers the sand; I moor on the Qinhuai River at night near a tavern.
The singing girl knows nothing of grief for a fallen kingdom; across the river she still sings “Flowers in the Back Courtyard.”

Liu Zhongyong — A Soldier's Complaint
Year after year, the Golden River and then the Jade Pass;
Day after day, a horse whip and the ring of a sword.
Through all three spring months, white snow falls by the Green Tomb;
For ten thousand miles, the Yellow River winds around the Black Mountains.

Wei Zhuang — A Picture of Jinling
Who says sadness cannot be painted?
The painter's heart just follows what the world wants.
Look at these six paintings of the Southern Dynasties:
Old trees and cold clouds fill the former capital.

Wei Yingwu — The West Stream at Chuzhou
I especially love the quiet grass growing beside the stream, with yellow orioles singing above it in the deep trees.
At evening the spring flood rushes in with rain; no one is at the country ferry, and the boat lies crosswise on its own.

Zhang Xu — Peach Blossom Creek
A high bridge is faintly visible through the country mist; west of the rocky bank I ask a fishing boat:
“Peach blossoms float with the current all day. Where along this clear stream is the cave?”

Zhang Bi — To Someone Far Away
In my dream of parting, I returned fondly to your home; its small halls turned past winding railings.
Only the spring moon in the courtyard still cares for us apart, shining on the fallen flowers.

Zhang Hu — Written at the Jinling Ferry
At Jinling's ferry there is a little building on the hill;
A traveler staying there one night is bound to feel sad.
At low tide, in the night river under the slanting moon,
Two or three lights are shining at Guazhou.

Zhang Hu — For a Palace Woman
The moon's light passes the trees by the forbidden gate; her lovely eyes watch only the roosting egrets' nest.
She draws out a jade hairpin by lamplight and pokes the red flame to save a moth flying into it.

Zhang Hu — Gathering Spirits Terrace, First Poem
Slanting sunlight falls on Gathering Spirits Terrace; blossoms in the red trees open to meet the morning dew.
Last night the retired emperor received new Daoist scriptures; Taizhen came smiling through the curtain.

Zhang Hu — Gathering Spirits Terrace, Second Poem
Lady of Guo has the ruler's favor;
At dawn she rides a horse through the palace gate.
She thinks powder and rouge would spoil her complexion,
So she meets the emperor with only lightly drawn eyebrows.

Zhang Ji — Mooring at Night by Maple Bridge
The moon sets, crows cry, and frost fills the sky; among riverside maples and fishing lights I lie awake in sorrow.
From Cold Mountain Temple outside Gusu, the midnight bell reaches my boat.

Chen Tao — Song of Longxi
They vowed to wipe out the Xiongnu without concern for their lives; five thousand soldiers in fine clothes died in foreign dust.
How sad that the bones beside the Wuding River still belong to men whom their wives dream of at home.

Anonymous — An Occasional Poem
As the Cold Food rain ends, the grass grows thick; wind moves through young wheat and willows shade the bank.
I too have a home but cannot return; cuckoo, stop calling beside my ear.

He Zhizhang — Lines Written on Returning Home
I left home young and have returned old; my accent has not changed, though my hair at the temples has thinned.
Children see me but do not know me; laughing, they ask, “Where have you come from, stranger?”

Wen Tingyun — Complaint of the Jade Zither
On a cool bamboo mat and silver bed I cannot dream; the blue sky is like water and the night clouds are thin.
The sound of geese travels far past the Xiao and Xiang Rivers; in the twelve-story tower the moon shines by itself.

Liu Fangping — Moonlit Night
Deep in the night, moonlight covers half the houses;
The Big Dipper lies across the sky, and the Southern Dipper tilts.
Tonight I especially feel that the spring air is warm;
New sounds of insects pass through my green window screen.

Liu Fangping — Spring Complaint
The sun sets outside the gauze window and dusk slowly comes; in the golden room no one sees her tears.
The empty courtyard is lonely in late spring; pear blossoms cover the ground, and she does not open the door.

Liu Yuxi — Black Robe Lane
Wildflowers grow beside Vermilion Bird Bridge;
The setting sun slants across the entrance to Black Robe Lane.
The swallows that once nested in the halls of the Wang and Xie families
Now fly into the homes of ordinary people.

Liu Yuxi — Spring Poem
With fresh makeup suited to her face, she comes down from the red tower;
The locked courtyard holds spring light and her sadness.
She walks into the central courtyard and counts the blossoms;
A dragonfly lands on the jade pin in her hair.

Zheng Tian — At Mawei Slope
Emperor Xuanzong turned his horse around, and Consort Yang died;
Their love was hard to forget, though sun and moon bring new days.
In the end, this is what an enlightened emperor did;
But who was that other man in the well at Jingyang Palace?

Han Hong — Cold Food Festival
Flowers fly everywhere in the city in spring; on the Cold Food festival the east wind bends the imperial willows.
At dusk candles are passed around the Han palace; thin smoke drifts into the homes of the five nobles.

Han Wo — The Weather Has Turned Cool
Beyond the green railing hang embroidered curtains; a crimson screen shows a flowering branch.
An eight-foot mat of dragon-whisker grass lies on a square brocade mattress; it has turned cool but is not yet cold.

Gu Kuang — Palace Song
Music rises from the jade tower halfway to the sky; the wind carries the laughter and talk of palace women.
Shadows part at the moonlit hall and the night clock can be heard; the crystal curtain rolls up close to the Milky Way.