Three Hundred Tang Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wang Wei — For Official GuoThe palace gateway and high pavilion glow in the last light; peach and plum trees cast shade while willow fluff flies.Sparse bells sound in the forbidden grounds as evening reaches the officials' homes; birds call in the ministry, with few clerks about.Each morning your jade pendants sway as you hurry to the golden hall; each evening you bring an imperial message and bow at the decorated gate.I would like to follow you, but I am old; illness will let me put aside my court robes.

Wang Wei — Written at the Emperor's Command in Response to His Poem on a Rainy Spring View from the Gallery between Penglai and XingqingThe Wei River winds along the old defenses of Qin; Yellow Mountain once curved by the Han palace.The imperial carriage emerges far beyond the willows at a thousand gates; from the raised gallery the emperor looks back at the flowers in the upper gardens.Clouds surround the twin towers of the imperial city; spring trees rise amid ten thousand homes in the rain.He has come to follow the season's warm energy and its proper duties, not to enjoy the beauty on an imperial outing.

Wang Wei — At My Wangchuan Estate after Long RainIn the empty rainy woods, cooking fires are slow to start; wild greens and millet are cooked for workers in the eastern field.White egrets fly above the broad wet rice fields; yellow orioles sing in the dark summer trees.In the mountains I practice stillness and watch the morning hibiscus; beneath the pines I eat simple food and pick dew-covered mallow.The old countryman no longer argues with others over where to sit; why should the seagulls still suspect me?

Bai Juyi — Looking at the Moon and Writing to My Scattered Brothers and Sisters after War and FamineIn troubled times and a year of famine, our family's livelihood is gone; my brothers travel in different directions.After the fighting our fields and gardens lie empty; our family wanders along the roads.Separated, we are like wild geese a thousand miles apart; uprooted, like tumbleweeds scattered in the autumn wind.As we all look at the bright moon, we must all be crying; in one night our longing for home is the same in five places.

Cen Shen — In Response to Jia Zhi's Poem on the Early Court at Daming PalaceA rooster crows on the purple road in the cold light of dawn; orioles sing in the capital as spring colors fade.The dawn bell at the golden palace opens thousands of doors; on jade steps the imperial guard surrounds the officials.Flowers meet their swords and pendants as the stars begin to set; willows brush the banners before the dew has dried.Only you, a guest at the Phoenix Pool, have written a spring song that is hard for anyone to answer.

Li Bai — Climbing Phoenix Terrace at JinlingPhoenixes once came to Phoenix Terrace; they have gone, and the empty terrace overlooks the river flowing on.Flowers and grass cover the paths in Wu's palace; the noble officials of Jin are now buried on old hills.Three mountains are half hidden beyond the blue sky; two streams part around Egret Island.Clouds always cover the sun; I cannot see Chang'an, and that makes me sad.

Li Shangyin — UntitledMeeting is hard and parting is hard too; the east wind has weakened and the flowers are dying.The spring silkworm's thread runs out only when it dies; the candle's tears dry only when it has burned to ash.At dawn, looking in the mirror, you must worry that your dark hair has changed; reciting verse at night, you must feel the moonlight's cold.The immortal mountain is not far from here; let the blue bird kindly go and look for you.

Li Shangyin — Untitled, First PoemThe fragrant silk with a phoenix-tail pattern is thin, though folded many times; late at night she sews the blue-patterned round canopy.She makes a fan shaped like the moon but cannot hide her embarrassment; his carriage passes with a sound like thunder, and they cannot speak.Once I was alone as the lamp's gold wick burned down; there was no news at all when the pomegranate flowers turned red.My dappled horse is tied only to the bank under the willows; where in the southwest can I wait for a favorable wind?

Li Shangyin — Untitled, Second PoemHeavy curtains hang low in Mo Chou's hall; after she lies down, the clear night seems to go on forever.The goddess's whole life was only a dream; the young woman at home has no husband.The wind and waves show no mercy to the fragile water chestnut; who lets moonlit dew make the cinnamon leaves fragrant?Even if longing does no good at all, I can still feel sad in my foolish love.

Li Shangyin — The Patterned ZitherWhy does this beautiful zither have fifty strings? Each string and bridge brings back my best years.Zhuangzi dreamed at dawn and lost track of whether he was a butterfly; Emperor Wang put his longing for spring into the cuckoo's call.Under the moon over the vast sea, pearls hold tears; in the warmth of the sun at Lantian, jade seems to give off mist.Could these feelings have waited to become memories? Even then they left me at a loss.

Li Shangyin — The Sui PalaceAt Ziquan the palace buildings are locked amid mist and sunset clouds;He wanted to make Wucheng the seat of his empire.If the imperial seal had not passed to the man with a sun-like forehead,His brocade sails might have gone on to the end of the earth.Today there are no fireflies in the rotting grass;The weeping willows have held evening crows through all the years.If he should meet the last ruler of Chen below the earth,Would it be right to ask him again about “Flowers in the Back Courtyard”?

Li Shangyin — Untitled, First PoemYou said you would come, but they were empty words; you left without a trace. The moon slants over the tower as the fifth-watch bell rings.In my dream I cry over our distant parting and cannot call you back; hurriedly I write a letter before the ink is dark enough.Candlelight partly lights the gold kingfisher design; musk incense drifts faintly across the embroidered lotus.Liu already complained that the immortal mountain was far away; now ten thousand more ranges lie beyond it!

Li Shangyin — Untitled, Second PoemThe east wind rustles and fine rain comes; light thunder sounds beyond the lotus pond.A golden toad holds the lock as incense burns inside; a jade tiger draws the rope back from the well.Lady Jia peered through the curtain at young Han; the goddess of the Luo left a pillow for the talented prince of Wei.Do not let feelings of love open like flowers in spring: each inch of longing turns into an inch of ash.

Li Shangyin — The Planning Post StationMonkeys and birds still seem to fear his written orders;Wind and clouds still seem to protect the camp defenses.The great commander used his inspired plans in vain;In the end a king surrendered and rode away in a post carriage.His talent matched Guan Zhong and Yue Yi;But what could he do after Guan Yu and Zhang Fei died?In later years, when I pass his shrine at Jinli,I sing “Liangfu” and my regret is still not spent.

Li Shangyin — UntitledLast night's stars and last night's wind were west of the painted tower and east of the cinnamon hall.Our bodies have no bright phoenix wings to fly together, but our hearts meet at one point, like the two parts of a rhinoceros horn.Across the tables we passed the hidden hook, warmed by spring wine; in teams we guessed covered objects under red candlelight.Sadly, I heard the drum calling me to work; I rode to the archives like a drifting weed.

Li Shangyin — Spring RainIn my white unlined robe I lie down sadly in the new spring;At White Gate all is lonely, and nothing goes as I wish.Across the rain I look toward the red tower and feel cold;A lantern sways by the beaded curtain as I return alone.On the long road you must grieve that spring is growing late;In the remaining hours of night I still dream of you faintly.How can I send you this letter sealed with jade earrings?Across ten thousand miles of cloud, a single wild goose flies.

Li Qi — Seeing Wei Wan Off to the CapitalThis morning I heard a traveler's farewell song; last night the first light frost came as he crossed the river.The cries of wild geese are hard to hear when you are sad; how much harder it is to cross cloud-covered mountains away from home.The trees by the pass warn that cold is near; in the imperial gardens, the sound of clothes being beaten grows louder toward evening.When you see Chang'an and its places of pleasure, don't let the years slip away for nothing.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, First PoemTorn apart in the war and dust of the northeast, I have wandered through the southwest under the open sky.Among the Three Gorges' towers I have stayed through many days and nights; among the Five Streams' people in their own clothes, I have lived with cloud and mountain.The foreign rebels proved disloyal to their ruler; the poet grieves for his age and still cannot return.Yu Xin's life was full of sadness; in his old age his poems moved the lands along the river and the passes.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Second PoemSeeing the leaves fall, I understand Song Yu's sadness; that elegant, learned poet is also my teacher.I look back over a thousand years and shed tears; we belong to different, unhappy ages.His old home among rivers and hills survives only in his writing; was the deserted terrace's cloud-and-rain tale only a dream?Most of all the Chu palace is gone, and even the boatmen who point it out today are unsure.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Third PoemCountless hills and valleys run toward Jingmen; the village where the Beautiful Consort grew up still stands.She left the purple palace for the northern desert; only her green tomb remains facing the evening.The emperor knew her springtime face only from a portrait; her spirit returns in vain on moonlit nights, with her jade ornaments ringing.For a thousand years the lute has played the language of the northern people, clearly voicing her grief in its music.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Fourth PoemThe ruler of Shu looked toward Wu and came to the Three Gorges; he died at Yong'an Palace.I imagine his green imperial banners in these empty hills; the jade palace is now a deserted country shrine.Water birds nest in the cedars and pines of his old temple; village elders come for the seasonal rites.The shrine of his minister Zhuge is always close by; ruler and minister are honored together in the same ceremonies.

Du Fu — Thoughts on Ancient Sites, Fifth PoemZhuge's great name reaches throughout the world; his portrait as chief minister looks dignified and noble.His plans dealt with a realm divided in three; through all ages he stands as high as a feather in the sky.His talent was equal to that of Yi Yin and Lü Shang; even Xiao He and Cao Can seem lesser beside his calm command.But as fortune shifted, the Han could not be restored; determined to the end, he died worn out by military affairs.

Du Fu — Hearing That the Government Army Has Recovered Henan and HebeiSuddenly word comes from beyond the mountains that Jibei has been recovered; as soon as I hear it, tears soak my clothes.I look back at my wife and children: where is their sadness now? I roll up my books at random, almost mad with joy.By daylight I must sing loudly and drink plenty of wine; with spring as my companion, I can go home.I'll go straight through Ba Gorge and Wu Gorge, then down to Xiangyang and on toward Luoyang.

Du Fu — Staying at HeadquartersIn clear autumn the plane trees by the headquarters well are cold;I stay alone in the river city as the candle burns down.All night the horn sounds sadly, as if speaking to itself;The moon looks beautiful high in the sky, but who is there to see it?Years of war have cut off letters and news;The passes lie desolate, and travel by land is hard.I have borne ten years of being alone;I make myself settle on this one branch for a little peace.

Du Fu — Night in the WatchtowerAt year's end the changing seasons shorten the days; far from home, snow and frost clear from the cold night.In the last night watch drums and horns sound sad and strong; the stars and the Milky Way shake in the waters of the Three Gorges.In the countryside, a thousand households cry at news of war; in several places fishermen and woodcutters sing the songs of local peoples.The Crouching Dragon and the Leaping Horse are both dust now; human affairs and news from friends fade into silence.

Du Fu — Climbing the HeightsThe wind blows hard, the sky is high, and the monkeys cry sadly;Birds wheel above the clear island and white sand.Endless falling leaves rustle down;The unending Yangzi rolls on.Ten thousand miles away from home, I always spend autumn as a traveler;In my old age, often ill, I climb the terrace alone.Hard times and sorrow have covered my temples with white hair;Broken down, I have lately had to give up my cup of rough wine.

Du Fu — Climbing the TowerFlowers near the high tower hurt my heart as a traveler; I climb it amid troubles throughout the land.Spring color along the Jin River fills the world; clouds over Yulei Mountain change from ancient times to now.The imperial court in the north will not change; the raiders in the western hills must not invade us.Poor last ruler, you still have your shrine; at dusk I sing “Liangfu” for a while.

Du Fu — The Minister of ShuWhere can I find the prime minister's shrine?Beyond the Brocade City, thick cypress trees surround it.Green grass by the steps has its own spring color;A yellow oriole sings beautifully, unheard behind the leaves.Three times the ruler visited to seek his plans for the world;He served two rulers, giving his old heart to their founding and survival.He died before his military campaign succeeded,Leaving heroes forever with tears soaking their clothes.

Du Fu — A Guest ComesSouth and north of my house there is spring water everywhere;All I see, day after day, are the gulls that come here.I have never swept the flower-lined path for a guest;Today, for you, I open my rough gate for the first time.The market is far away, so our meal has no variety;We are poor, so the wine in the jar is only an old brew.If you're willing to drink with the old neighbor,I'll call him over the fence and we can finish the rest.

Du Fu — Looking into the DistanceSnow lies on the three unusual garrisons in the western hills; to the south are the clear river at Nanpu and the Ten Thousand Mile Bridge.War across the country has separated me from my brothers; I cry alone, far away at the edge of the world.Old age has brought me many illnesses; I have not done the smallest thing to repay the imperial court.Sometimes I ride beyond the town and look far into the distance; I cannot bear how bleak human affairs grow each day.

Liu Zongyuan — From the Tower at Liuzhou, Writing to the Governors of Zhang, Ting, Feng, and LianThe high tower on the city wall looks out over the vast wilderness; sad thoughts stretch as far as sea and sky.A fierce wind tosses the lotus-covered water; thick rain slants across the vine-covered wall.Mountain trees hide the view a thousand miles away; the river bends like a stomach twisting nine times.We came together to this land of tattooed southern peoples, yet letters between us are still delayed from one district to another.

Huangfu Ran — Thoughts in SpringOrioles sing and swallows call to announce a new year; but how many thousand miles away are Mayi and Longdui?My home in Qin's city stands near the Han palace grounds; my heart follows the bright moon to the northern lands.Words woven in brocade on my loom tell of my lasting sorrow; upstairs, flower-covered branches seem to laugh at me for sleeping alone.Let me ask General Dou: when will you bring your banners home after carving your victory on Mount Yanran?

Wei Yingwu — To Li Dan and Yuan XiLast year we parted among the flowers; now the flowers have opened again and a year has passed.I cannot foresee what life will bring; overcome by spring sadness, I fall asleep alone.Often ill, I long for the fields back home; when people leave my town, I am ashamed to take my salary.I hear you plan to come and see me; how many times have I watched the full moon from the western tower?

Zu Yong — Looking toward Jizhou GateA look toward the Yan terrace startles this traveler: flutes and drums sound loudly in the Han general's camp.Cold light from piled snow stretches ten thousand miles; at dawn tall banners stir along all three borders.Beacons on the battlefield shine beneath the northern moon; cloudy hills by the sea surround Jizhou city.I was no young clerk who threw away his writing brush, but I too want to win honor by volunteering for the army.

Qin Taoyu — A Poor GirlBehind a rough door, she has never known the scent of fine silk; the thought of relying on a good matchmaker only hurts her more.Who loves her graceful bearing and high standards? Everyone admires the day's fashion for simple hair and makeup.She dares say her ten fingers are especially skilled, but she will not compete at painting her eyebrows long.Year after year she has to work gold thread, sewing wedding clothes for other women.

Gao Shi — Seeing Off Magistrate Li, Exiled to the Gorges, and Magistrate Wang, Exiled to ChangshaFriends, how do you feel as you leave? I stop my horse, hold my cup and ask about the places of exile.The monkeys' cries in Wu Gorge will bring you several lines of tears; how many letters will the returning geese bring from Hengyang?The autumn sky is far above the river with green maples; old trees stand thin beside Baidi City.Today our enlightened age shows much kindness, like rain and dew; don't hesitate over this short separation.

Cui Shu — Climbing the Terrace for Viewing Immortals on the Ninth Day, for Magistrate LiuEmperor Wen of Han built this high terrace; today I climb it as the dawn brightens.The cloud-covered mountains of the three Jin regions all face north; wind and rain from the two imperial tombs come from the east.Who could have recognized the keeper of the pass gate? The immortal old man by the river will not return.For now I want to find the magistrate of Pengze nearby and happily share cups of chrysanthemum wine.

Cui Hao — Yellow Crane TowerA man in the past rode a yellow crane away; only Yellow Crane Tower is left here.The yellow crane has never come back; for a thousand years the white clouds have drifted on.On a clear day I can make out trees across the river in Hanyang and thick sweet grass on Parrot Island.At dusk, where is the road home? Mist on the river makes me sad.

Cui Hao — Passing Mount HuaHigh Mount Hua looks down on the capital near Xianyang; its three peaks beyond the sky seem beyond any carving.Clouds are about to clear before Emperor Wu's shrine; rain has just stopped over the Immortal's Palm.To the north, river and hills border Qin's dangerous passes; to the west, roadside trees run toward the flat Han altars.Let me ask the travelers after fame and wealth: why not learn how to live forever in this place?

Wen Tingyun — Crossing South of LizhouCalm water and open sky face the slanting sunlight; curved islands fade into the green hills.A horse neighs among the waves as the boat rows away; people rest by the willows, waiting for the ferry to return.Gulls scatter over clumps of grass on the sand; one egret flies above miles of fields beside the river.Who understands how to take a boat like Fan Li, and forget worldly schemes alone among the misty waters of the Five Lakes?

Wen Tingyun — The Shrine of Su WuSu Wu broke down before the Han envoy; his old shrine and tall trees seem distant and strange.No geese come from beyond the clouds under the moon in the northern sky; sheep return across the ridge amid the mist of frontier grass.On his return the palace towers were no longer those he had left; when he departed, he was a young man wearing his official cap and sword.At Maoling he found no title of marquis to receive; before autumn waves he wept over the river that flows away.

Liu Changqing — Parting Again from Officials Xue Six and Liu Eight at JiangzhouWho would have thought my life would receive a favorable imperial order? From the world's events I have only learned to sing and drink.Above the river, northern geese pass through the bright moonlight; south of the Huai, trees shed their leaves among the many Chu mountains.I am glad to be near a place to withdraw to; but when I look at my reflection, what can I do about my white hair?Today, old and feeble, I am rejected by everyone; I am ashamed that you still tell me to take care among the wind and waves.

Liu Changqing — Passing Jia Yi's House in ChangshaHe stayed here for three years in exile as an official; across all the ages only sorrow for this visitor to Chu remains.Alone I search through autumn grass after the man has gone; in the cold woods I see nothing but the setting sun.Though Emperor Wen of Han was wise, his favor was still thin; the Xiang River cares nothing for anyone's lament.Amid these quiet hills and falling leaves, I grieve for you: why were you sent to the edge of the world?

Liu Changqing — Looking toward Yueyang from Parrot Island on My Way from Xiakou, to Minister YuanThere are no waves or mist along the river islands; my thoughts of you stretch even farther across the Chu country.At sunset birds cross slantwise above Hankou; the autumn waters of Dongting Lake meet the distant sky.At the lonely city behind the ridge, a horn sounds in the cold; I moor my boat at night beside a lone tree on the river.Jia Yi wrote to the emperor out of concern for the Han; exiled to Changsha, he is pitied in every age.

Liu Yuxi — Thinking of the Past at Mount XisaiWang Jun's tall warships sailed down from Yizhou, and Jinling's royal power suddenly faded.A thousand-fathom iron chain sank to the riverbed; a white flag of surrender rose over Stone City.How many times have people mourned what happened long ago? The mountain still stands beside the cold current.Now the whole land is one home; autumn reeds rustle among the old fortifications.

Lu Lun — Stopping at Ezhou in the EveningWhen the clouds clear I see Hanyang City far away, but my lone sail still has a full day's travel to go.Merchants sleep by day, showing that the waves are calm; boatmen talk at night, and I know the tide is rising.My gray temples meet autumn in the three Xiang riverlands; under the bright moon I long to return across ten thousand miles.War has destroyed the livelihood I once had; how much more can I bear the drums of war sounding on the river?

Qian Qi — For Secretary Pei at CourtIn the second month yellow orioles fly over the upper grove; at dawn the forbidden palace lies dark in the spring city.The bells of Changle fade beyond the flowers; the willows by Dragon Pool look deeper green in the rain.The warm spring cannot ease my sorrow at having no prospects; I still long to serve the ruler in the high court.For ten years I have offered poems without finding favor; I am ashamed to face your fine official cap with my white hair.

Xue Feng — Palace SongIn the twelve towers all the women put on morning makeup; at the Tower for Viewing Immortals they look out for the ruler.The linked gold beast heads holding the locks are cold; water drips from the bronze dragon through the long daytime watch.After arranging her hair in high coils, she looks again in the mirror; before changing her silk clothes, she adds more perfume.She peers toward the curtains opening in the main hall, where palace servants in robes and trousers sweep the imperial bed.

Han Hong — The Immortal's TempleAt the immortal terrace I first see the five-towered building;The scene is chilly as last night's rain comes to an end.Distant mountains connect to Qin's trees at dusk;Nearby, the sound of beating cloth announces autumn at the Han palace.The shadows of scattered pines fall across the quiet, empty altar;Small cave entrances lie still amid the scent of fine grass.Why seek a place beyond the world somewhere else?This world has its own land of immortals.

Yuan Zhen — The Old PalaceThe old travel palace stands deserted; palace flowers bloom red with no one near.A palace woman with white hair is still there, sitting at ease and talking about Emperor Xuanzong.

Wang Zhihuan — Climbing the Stork TowerThe white sun sets behind the hills; the Yellow River flows into the sea.If you want to see a thousand miles farther, climb another floor.

Wang Jian — A Newly Married WomanOn the third day she enters the kitchen, washes her hands and makes soup.She doesn't yet know her mother-in-law's taste, so she has her husband's younger sister try it first.

Wang Wei — Thinking of YouRed beans grow in the south; how many branches do they put out in spring?I hope you pick a great many; they remind people of those they miss most.

Wang Wei — An Occasional PoemYou come from my hometown, so you should know how things are there.When you came past my patterned window, had the winter plum tree bloomed yet?

Wang Wei — Deer EnclosureThere is no one to be seen on the empty mountain; I hear only the sound of voices.The reflected sunlight enters the deep woods and shines again on the green moss.

Wang Wei — Pavilion in the BambooI sit alone among dense bamboo, playing the zither and calling out for a long time.Nobody in the deep woods knows I'm here; the bright moon comes to shine on me.

Wang Wei — FarewellAfter seeing you off in the mountains, I shut my brushwood door at dusk.Next year the spring grass will grow green. Will you come back?

Bai Juyi — Asking Liu NineteenThe newly brewed wine has green bubbles,And a small stove made of red clay is burning.It's getting late and looks like snow.Can you come have a cup?

A Westerner — Song of GeshuThe seven stars of the Big Dipper stand high; Geshu wears his sword at night.Even now those watching for a chance to graze horses dare not cross Lin Tao.

Li Bai — Thoughts on a Quiet NightI see moonlight before my bed;I think it may be frost on the ground.I lift my head to look at the moon over the mountain;I lower it and think of home.

Li Bai — ResentmentA beautiful woman rolls up her beaded curtain; she sits deep inside, frowning.I see only that tears have wet her face; I do not know whom she resents.

Li Shangyin — Climbing Leyou PlainAt dusk I feel uneasy and drive my carriage up the old plain.The setting sun is endlessly beautiful, but evening is close.

Li Duan — Listening to the ZitherThe zither sounds, with its gold-colored bridges; pale hands play in front of the jade room.She wants Zhou to look at her, so she deliberately strikes a wrong note now and then.

Li Pin — Crossing the Han RiverBeyond the mountains, letters from home stopped;I passed the winter and then the spring.The closer I get to home, the more afraid I am;I dare not ask anyone coming from there for news.

Du Fu — The Eight FormationsHis achievements surpassed the three divided kingdoms; his Eight Formations made his name.The river flows, but the stones do not move; his lasting regret was failing to conquer Wu.

Meng Haoran — Spending the Night on the Jiande RiverI move the boat to moor at a misty island; at dusk my worries as a traveler return.The open fields make the sky look lower than the trees; in the clear river the moon seems close to me.

Meng Haoran — Spring DawnI slept through the arrival of spring dawn; everywhere I hear birds calling.Last night there was wind and rain. How many flowers have fallen?

Jin Changxu — A Spring ComplaintDrive away the yellow orioles; don't let them sing on the branches.Their singing wakes me from my dream, before I can reach Liaoxi.

Liu Zongyuan — Snow on the RiverAcross a thousand mountains not a bird flies; on ten thousand paths there are no human tracks.A single boat holds an old man in a straw raincoat and hat, fishing alone on a snowy, freezing river.

Wei Yingwu — To Official Qiu on an Autumn NightI think of you on this autumn night;I take a walk and speak verses in the cool air.Pine nuts fall on the empty mountain;You, living alone, must still be awake.

Zu Yong — Looking toward the Snow on Mount ZhongnanThe northern slopes of Zhongnan look beautiful; snow piles up to the edges of the clouds.After the sky clears, light shines above the woods; the city grows colder at dusk.

Zhang Hu — He ManziMy homeland is three thousand miles away;I have been in the deep palace for twenty years.At a single singing of “He Manzi,”Tears fall from both my eyes before you, my lord.

Jia Dao — Looking for a Recluse and Not Finding HimUnder the pines I ask a boy. He says his master went to gather herbs.“He's somewhere on this mountain, but the clouds are thick and I don't know where.”

Pei Di — Seeing Cui Jiu OffGo back to the mountains, whether deep or shallow;Make sure you enjoy the beauty of their hills and valleys.Don't be like the man from WulingWho visited Peach Blossom Spring only for a while.

Liu Changqing — Seeing Lingche OffThe bamboo-grove temple stands dark green; its evening bell sounds from far away.Carrying his straw hat in the setting sun, he returns alone into the distant green hills.

Liu Changqing — Playing the ZitherThe seven strings give a clear sound; I listen quietly to the cold wind in the pines.I love this old tune myself, but few people play it now.

Liu Changqing — Seeing a Monk OffA lone cloud and a wild crane: how could they stay among people?Don't buy a place on Mount Wozhou; people already know where it is.

Quan Deyu — A Poem in the Jade Terrace StyleMy skirt's ties came undone last night;Today a lucky spider flies nearby.I must not put away my makeup;Could my husband be coming home?

Wang Changling — Seeing Xin Jian Off at Furong TowerCold rain covered the river as it entered Wu at night; at dawn, when I saw my guest off, the Chu hills stood alone.If friends and relatives in Luoyang ask about me, tell them my heart is as clear as ice in a jade vessel.

Wang Changling — A Wife's RegretA young wife in her room had never known sorrow; dressed up one spring day, she climbed the green tower.Suddenly she saw the willows along the road and regretted sending her husband away to earn a noble title.

Wang Changling — Song of the Spring PalaceLast night the wind opened peach blossoms by the uncovered well; the moon stood high over the front hall of Weiyang Palace.A singer and dancer from Pingyang has just gained the ruler's favor; outside the curtains, in the spring cold, he gives her a brocade robe.

Wang Wei — Thinking of My Brothers East of the Mountains on the Ninth Day of the Ninth MonthAlone in a foreign place, I am a stranger; at every festival I miss my family all the more.Far away, I know my brothers are climbing the heights with dogwood in their hair, but one of us is missing.

Wang Han — Song of LiangzhouFine grape wine fills cups that glow at night; just as we go to drink, a lute urges us to mount our horses.Don't laugh if we lie drunk on the battlefield. How many have ever returned from war?

Bai Juyi — Palace SongTears soak my silk handkerchief; I cannot fall asleep and dream.Deep into the night I hear songs being rehearsed in the front hall.I have lost the ruler's favor before my beauty has faded;I lean against the incense burner and sit there until dawn.

Zhu Qingyu — In the PalaceDuring the flowering season, the courtyard gate remains shut and quiet;Two beautiful women stand together by a fine pavilion.One wants to speak of palace affairs, full of feeling,But she does not dare speak in front of the parrot.

Zhu Qingyu — To Zhang of the Water Department Just Before the ExaminationLast night the red candles burned out in the bridal chamber; at dawn the bride will greet her husband's parents in the hall.After putting on makeup, she quietly asks her husband: “Are my eyebrows painted in the fashion they like?”

Cen Shen — Meeting a Messenger Going to the CapitalI look east toward home down an endless road; both my sleeves are wet with tears that will not dry.We meet on horseback, and I have no paper or brush. Please tell them I am safe.

Li Bai — Seeing Meng Haoran Off to GuanglingMy old friend says goodbye in the west at Yellow Crane Tower;Amid mist and spring blossoms, he goes down to Yangzhou in March.The distant shape of his lone sail vanishes past the green hills;I see only the Yangzi flowing to the edge of the sky.

Li Bai — Going Down to JianglingIn the morning I leave Baidi among colored clouds;In one day I reach Jiangling, a thousand miles away.The monkeys on both banks have not stopped calling,But my light boat has already passed ten thousand layers of mountains.

Li Yi — Hearing a Flute at Night on the Surrender City WallThe sand before Huile Peak looks like snow; moonlight below Surrender City looks like frost.Somewhere a reed flute is playing; all night every soldier looks toward home.

Li Shangyin — Jia YiIn the Xuanshi chamber the emperor called for a wise man and summoned an exiled minister; Jia Yi's talent was beyond compare.How sad that the emperor leaned forward in the middle of the night, only to ask about spirits rather than the people's lives.

Li Shangyin — The Sui PalaceThe emperor traveled south on a whim, without making security preparations;Inside the palace, who took notice of the letters advising against it?Throughout the land in the spring wind, people cut up imperial brocade;Half became saddlecloths, half became sails.

Li Shangyin — The Jade PoolAt the Jade Pool the Queen Mother opened her patterned window;The song of Yellow Bamboo sounded painfully across the earth.King Mu's eight horses could travel thirty thousand miles in a day;Why did he never come back?

Li Shangyin — Chang'eCandle shadows deepen against the mica screen;The Milky Way slowly sinks, and the morning stars fade.Chang'e must regret stealing the drug of eternal life,Alone with the blue sea and sky in her thoughts every night.

Li Shangyin — Writing North on a Rainy NightYou ask when I'll return, but I do not know when;Night rain in the Ba mountains is swelling the autumn pools.When will we trim the candle together by the west window,And talk about this rainy night in the Ba mountains?

Li Shangyin — To Official LinghuClouds over Mount Song and trees in Qin have separated us for so long;Your letter came from far away, carried like two carp.Don't ask about your old guest from Liang Garden:Here at Maoling, like Sima Xiangru, I am ill in the autumn rain.

Li Shangyin — Because of ThisBecause there is such beauty behind the cloud-patterned screen,I dread the spring nights as the cold leaves the capital.For no good reason I married a man with a gold-turtle badge,And waste our scented quilt when he must attend the early court.

Du Fu — Meeting Li Guinian South of the RiverI often saw you at Prince Qi's home and heard you perform many times at Cui Jiu's house.Now, amid the beautiful scenery south of the river, I meet you again when the flowers are falling.

Du Mu — At Parting, First PoemShe is graceful and slender, just over thirteen,Like a cardamom bud at the start of the second month.Along the ten miles of Yangzhou streets in the spring wind,None of the women behind the raised beaded curtains can match her.

Du Mu — At Parting, Second PoemI care so much that I seem not to care at all;Before the wine cup I find I cannot smile.The candle has a wick, as if it too feels sad at parting,And sheds tears for us until morning.

Du Mu — Golden Valley GardenAll its splendor has scattered like fragrant dust;The water flows on without caring, and the grass grows green each spring.At dusk, in the east wind, birds call sadly;The falling flowers still look like the woman who fell from the tower.

Du Mu — To Han Chuo, Official in YangzhouGreen hills show faintly, the waters stretch far away;Autumn is nearly over, but grass south of the river has not withered.On a moonlit night at the Twenty-Four Bridges,Where are you, handsome friend, teaching someone to play the flute?

Du Mu — Looking BackI wandered aimlessly with wine along the rivers and lakes;There were women with slender Chu waists, light enough to dance on a palm.Ten years in Yangzhou seem like a dream from which I have woken;All I gained was a reputation for being heartless in the pleasure houses.

Du Mu — Autumn EveningThe light of a silver candle makes the painted screen look cold;She bats at fireflies with a light silk fan.At night the palace steps are as cool as water;She lies watching the stars of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl.

Du Mu — Climbing Leyou Plain Before Leaving for WuxingIn peaceful times, finding pleasure in doing nothing means I have no ability; I love idle clouds and the quiet life of monks.I am about to take my official banner away to the rivers and sea; from Leyou Plain I look toward Emperor Taizong's tomb.

Du Mu — Red CliffA broken halberd lay buried in the sand, its iron not yet rusted away; I polished and washed it and recognized that it came from an earlier age.If the east wind had not helped Zhou Yu, the two Qiao sisters would have been locked deep inside the Bronze Sparrow Tower in spring.

Du Mu — Mooring on the Qinhuai RiverMist covers the cold water, moonlight covers the sand; I moor on the Qinhuai River at night near a tavern.The singing girl knows nothing of grief for a fallen kingdom; across the river she still sings “Flowers in the Back Courtyard.”

Liu Zhongyong — A Soldier's ComplaintYear after year, the Golden River and then the Jade Pass;Day after day, a horse whip and the ring of a sword.Through all three spring months, white snow falls by the Green Tomb;For ten thousand miles, the Yellow River winds around the Black Mountains.

Wei Zhuang — A Picture of JinlingWho says sadness cannot be painted?The painter's heart just follows what the world wants.Look at these six paintings of the Southern Dynasties:Old trees and cold clouds fill the former capital.

Wei Yingwu — The West Stream at ChuzhouI especially love the quiet grass growing beside the stream, with yellow orioles singing above it in the deep trees.At evening the spring flood rushes in with rain; no one is at the country ferry, and the boat lies crosswise on its own.

Zhang Xu — Peach Blossom CreekA high bridge is faintly visible through the country mist; west of the rocky bank I ask a fishing boat:“Peach blossoms float with the current all day. Where along this clear stream is the cave?”

Zhang Bi — To Someone Far AwayIn my dream of parting, I returned fondly to your home; its small halls turned past winding railings.Only the spring moon in the courtyard still cares for us apart, shining on the fallen flowers.

Zhang Hu — Written at the Jinling FerryAt Jinling's ferry there is a little building on the hill;A traveler staying there one night is bound to feel sad.At low tide, in the night river under the slanting moon,Two or three lights are shining at Guazhou.

Zhang Hu — For a Palace WomanThe moon's light passes the trees by the forbidden gate; her lovely eyes watch only the roosting egrets' nest.She draws out a jade hairpin by lamplight and pokes the red flame to save a moth flying into it.

Zhang Hu — Gathering Spirits Terrace, First PoemSlanting sunlight falls on Gathering Spirits Terrace; blossoms in the red trees open to meet the morning dew.Last night the retired emperor received new Daoist scriptures; Taizhen came smiling through the curtain.

Zhang Hu — Gathering Spirits Terrace, Second PoemLady of Guo has the ruler's favor;At dawn she rides a horse through the palace gate.She thinks powder and rouge would spoil her complexion,So she meets the emperor with only lightly drawn eyebrows.

Zhang Ji — Mooring at Night by Maple BridgeThe moon sets, crows cry, and frost fills the sky; among riverside maples and fishing lights I lie awake in sorrow.From Cold Mountain Temple outside Gusu, the midnight bell reaches my boat.

Chen Tao — Song of LongxiThey vowed to wipe out the Xiongnu without concern for their lives; five thousand soldiers in fine clothes died in foreign dust.How sad that the bones beside the Wuding River still belong to men whom their wives dream of at home.

Anonymous — An Occasional PoemAs the Cold Food rain ends, the grass grows thick; wind moves through young wheat and willows shade the bank.I too have a home but cannot return; cuckoo, stop calling beside my ear.

He Zhizhang — Lines Written on Returning HomeI left home young and have returned old; my accent has not changed, though my hair at the temples has thinned.Children see me but do not know me; laughing, they ask, “Where have you come from, stranger?”

Wen Tingyun — Complaint of the Jade ZitherOn a cool bamboo mat and silver bed I cannot dream; the blue sky is like water and the night clouds are thin.The sound of geese travels far past the Xiao and Xiang Rivers; in the twelve-story tower the moon shines by itself.

Liu Fangping — Moonlit NightDeep in the night, moonlight covers half the houses;The Big Dipper lies across the sky, and the Southern Dipper tilts.Tonight I especially feel that the spring air is warm;New sounds of insects pass through my green window screen.

Liu Fangping — Spring ComplaintThe sun sets outside the gauze window and dusk slowly comes; in the golden room no one sees her tears.The empty courtyard is lonely in late spring; pear blossoms cover the ground, and she does not open the door.

Liu Yuxi — Black Robe LaneWildflowers grow beside Vermilion Bird Bridge;The setting sun slants across the entrance to Black Robe Lane.The swallows that once nested in the halls of the Wang and Xie familiesNow fly into the homes of ordinary people.

Liu Yuxi — Spring PoemWith fresh makeup suited to her face, she comes down from the red tower;The locked courtyard holds spring light and her sadness.She walks into the central courtyard and counts the blossoms;A dragonfly lands on the jade pin in her hair.

Zheng Tian — At Mawei SlopeEmperor Xuanzong turned his horse around, and Consort Yang died;Their love was hard to forget, though sun and moon bring new days.In the end, this is what an enlightened emperor did;But who was that other man in the well at Jingyang Palace?

Han Hong — Cold Food FestivalFlowers fly everywhere in the city in spring; on the Cold Food festival the east wind bends the imperial willows.At dusk candles are passed around the Han palace; thin smoke drifts into the homes of the five nobles.

Han Wo — The Weather Has Turned CoolBeyond the green railing hang embroidered curtains; a crimson screen shows a flowering branch.An eight-foot mat of dragon-whisker grass lies on a square brocade mattress; it has turned cool but is not yet cold.

Gu Kuang — Palace SongMusic rises from the jade tower halfway to the sky; the wind carries the laughter and talk of palace women.Shadows part at the moonlit hall and the night clock can be heard; the crystal curtain rolls up close to the Milky Way.