Five-Character Old-Style Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yuan Jie — 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.