Three Hundred Tang Poems

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.

Yuan Jie — To the Officials after the Rebels' RetreatIn 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 ShanyinAs 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 ExaminationsIn 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 — FarewellI 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 CreekWhenever 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 RiverThe 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 ShiThe 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 JuThe 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 HouseAt 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 MoonAmong 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 LongingIn 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 TaiWhat 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 EightIn 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 WomanThere 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 PoemAt 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 PoemClouds 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 FiveAmong 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 DayThe 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 ComeThe 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 HimAt 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 MorningI 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 StreamLong 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 RainArmed 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 CollatorSorrowfully 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 QuanjiaoThis 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'anA 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 EveningI 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 SuburbsAll 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 AwayThe 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 RetreatThe 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 PoemA 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 PoemOrchid 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 PoemI 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 PoemSouth 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 CreekMy 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.

Yuan Jie — Drunken Song on Stone Fish Lake, with PrefaceStone 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 SorrowThe 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 PrefaceIn 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 CampaignHave 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 CampaignAt 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 CapitalThe 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 XuzhouI 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 PartingSailors 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 JinlingWind 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 XuanzhouThe 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 InscriptionThe 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 ThemeA 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 OffIn 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 ZitherOur 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 FangLong 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 BiliBamboo 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 HouseSince 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 BaGeneral, 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 timesHave suffered the frustrations that beset them all their days.

Du Fu — Sent to Remonstrance Official Han ZhuI 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 CypressBefore 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 PrefaceLong 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 NightThe 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 FishermanAt 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 TerraceBefore 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 RocksMountain 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 MonthThin 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 TowerIn 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 DrumsYoung 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.

Wang Zhihuan — Beyond the FrontierThe 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 FrontierThe 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 PoemCicadas 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 PoemWe 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 PalaceI 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 WeichengMorning 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 NightThe 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 LuoyangThe 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 GeneralWhen 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 SpringA 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 PoemHer 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 PoemOne 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 PoemThe 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 WineDo 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 StepsWhite 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 PoemEndless 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 PoemAs 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 PoemClear 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 PoemThe 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 PoemThough 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 ChangganWhen 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 ShuAh! 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 SongLuofu, 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 SongMirror 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 SongOne 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 SongThe 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 PassThe 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 SouthI 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 CampaignAt 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 CartsCarts 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 LadiesOn 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 RiverbankAn 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 PrinceWhite-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 ThreadI 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, UnseenThe 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 WomanParasol 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 SongThe 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 PrefaceIn 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 PoemEagle 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 PoemThe 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 PoemThe 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 PoemA 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.

Wang Bo — Seeing Du Shaofu Off to His Post in ShuzhouThe 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 ZizhouTrees 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 RiverThe 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 ZhongnanIn 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 ZhongnanMount 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 ZhangIn 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 FragranceNot 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 DiCold 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 MountainsAfter 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 SongA 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 BeiguMy 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 InnOld 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 StayNo 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 DefeatedIn 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 PartingThe 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 RidgeIn 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 SecretariatTogether 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 ZitherA 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 PastNight 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 HaoranI 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 FarewellFar 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 OffGreen 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 AgainAfter 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 DayThe 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 VinesThe 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 CicadaBecause 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 RainA 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 FlowersThe 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 TowerLong 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 StationSeeing 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 GraveI 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 JourneyFine 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 GateBy 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 NightGarrison 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 SkyA 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 NightTonight 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 ViewThe 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 SecretariatFlowers 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 InnAt 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 LamentLong 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 YuePicking lotus flowers in the creek.

Du Shenyan — Responding to Lu the Magistrate's Early Spring View at JinlingOnly a man who serves far from homeIs 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 PoemI 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 GuanglingDarkening 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 WeiHow 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 DaysLeaves 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 EndI 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 FarmMy 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 YuanI 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 ZhangIn 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 FriendsHuman 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 HouseResting 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 ZhangtaiThe 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 HuaiWe 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 AwayIn 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 SighWhat 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 AutumnWind 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 RiverCold 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 EveThe 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 GooseThe 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 TempleEarly 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 AwayAbove 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 AffairsThe 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 NomadsThe 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 CourtRed 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 AutumnA 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 JourneyYellow 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 HimHe 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 CreekAll 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 YearIn 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 TerraceAs 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 EstateDisplaced 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 SouthI 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 ShuA 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 — UntitledThe 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 OffWithered 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 JapanYou 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 YangSprings 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 PrefaceThe western fields ring with cicadas;Exiled here, I am seized by memories of home.How can I bear its dark-winged silhouetteAs 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 InnAutumn 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 NightThe 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.

Yuan Zhen — Sending Away Grief, First PoemLord 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 PoemThe 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 PoemSitting 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 PalaceA 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 GuoThe 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 XingqingThe 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 RainsAfter 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 XiaguiThe 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 PalaceCocks 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 JinlingOnce 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 — UntitledIt 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 PoemPhoenix-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 PoemLayered 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 ZitherWhy 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 PalaceThe 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 PoemThe 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 StationGibbons 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 — UntitledLast 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 RainIn 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 CapitalAt 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 PoemBroken 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 PoemWatching 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 PoemA 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 PoemThe 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 PoemZhuge'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 HebeiBeyond 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 HeadquartersIn 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 TowerAt 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 HeightsWind 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 TowerFlowers 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 ShuWhere 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 ArrivesNorth 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 DistanceWestern 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 LianA 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 ThoughtsOrioles 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 XiLast 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 GateOne 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 GirlShe 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 ExileAlas, 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 LiuThe 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 TowerA 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 HuayinLofty 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 LizhouEmpty 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 WuBefore 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 JiangzhouWho 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 ChangshaFor 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 YuanNo 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 MountainWang 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 EveningThe 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 GateIn 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 SongIn 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 TempleAt 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.

Yuan Zhen — Traveling PalaceDesolate, 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 TowerThe 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 BrideOn 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 — LongingRed 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 PoemYou 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 EnclosureOn 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 PavilionI 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 — FarewellI 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 NineteenNewly 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 GeshuThe 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 NightBefore 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 HeartA 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 PlainToward 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 ZitherThe 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 RiverBeyond 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 FormationsHis 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 RiverI 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 DawnSleeping 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 LamentDrive 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 RiverAcross 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 NightI think of you on this autumn nightAs 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 ZhongnanOn 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 ManziThree 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 HimBeneath 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 OffAs 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 OffBlue 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 ZitherClear 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 MonkA 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 TerraceLast 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?

Wang Changling — Seeing Xin Jian Off at Lotus TowerCold 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 LamentThe 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 PalaceLast 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 MountainsAlone 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 LiangzhouFine 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 SongTears 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 PalaceIn 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 ExaminationLast 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 CapitalEastward 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 GuanglingMy 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 JianglingAt 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 callingBefore my light boat passes ten thousand folds of mountains.

Li Yi — Hearing a Flute at Night above the City of SurrenderBefore 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 JiaIn 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 PalaceHe 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 PoolBy 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'eCandle 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 NorthYou 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 windowAnd talk about this night of rain in the Ba Mountains?

Li Shangyin — Sent to Secretary LinghuMount 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 — BecauseBecause 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 badgeAnd lost their hours beneath the fragrant quilt to his early court duties.

Du Fu — Meeting Li Guinian South of the YangziOften 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 PoemGraceful 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 PoemToo 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 GardenThe 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 YangzhouBlue 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 — RecollectionsI 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 EveningSilver 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 WuxingIn 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 CliffsA 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 QinhuaiMist 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 LamentYear 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 JinlingWho 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 ChuzhouI 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 CreekA 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 SomeoneMy 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 FerryAt 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 WomanThe 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 PoemSunlight 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 PoemLady 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 BridgeThe 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 LongxiSworn 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 PoemAs 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 ChanceI 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 ZitherOn 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 NightDeep 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 LamentSunlight 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 LaneWild 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 XieNow fly into the homes of ordinary people.

Liu Yuxi — Spring SongFreshly 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 SlopeXuanzong 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 FestivalFlowers 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 CoolBeyond 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 SongFrom 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.