To Tu Fu from Shantung
You ask how I spend my time I nestle against a treetrunk And listen to autumn winds In the pines all night and day. Shantung wine can’t get me drunk. The local poets bore
Leaving White King City
White King City I left at dawn In the morning-glow of the clouds; The thousand miles to Chiang-ling We sailed in a single day. On either shore the gibbons’ chatter Sounded without pause While
Before The Cask of Wine
The spring wind comes from the east and quickly passes, Leaving faint ripples in the wine of the golden bowl. The flowers fall, flake after flake, myriads together. You, pretty girl, wine-flushed, Your rosy
Gazing at the Cascade on Lu Mountain
Where crowns a purple haze Ashimmer in sunlight rays The hill called Incense-Burner Peak, from far To see, hung o’er the torrent’s wall, That waterfall Vault sheer three thousand feet, you’d say The Milky
Amidst the Flowers a Jug of Wine
Amidst the flowers a jug of wine, I pour alone lacking companionship. So raising the cup I invite the Moon, Then turn to my shadow which makes three of us. Because the Moon does
On Kusu Terrace
The old gardens of Kusu Terrace Are a wilderness, yet the willows That remain still put out new branches; Lasses gathering water chestnuts Sing so loudly and with such Clarity, that the feeling of
Waterfall at Lu-shan
Sunlight streams on the river stones. From high above, the river steadily plunges Three thousand feet of sparkling water The Milky Way pouring down from heaven.
The Old Dust
The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home. One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth, Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages. The rabbit in
Confessional
There was wine in a cup of gold And a girl of fifteen from Wu, Her eyebrows painted dark And with slippers of red brocade. If her conversation was poor, How beautifully she could
A Mountain Revelry
To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows, We drained a hundred jugs of wine. A splendid night it was. . . . In the clear moonlight we were loath to go
Climbing West Of Lotus Flower Peak
Amongst the grandeur of Hua Shan I climb to the Flower Peak, And fancy I see fairies and immortals Carrying lotus in their Sacred white hands, robes flowing They fly filling the sky with
On Climbing in Nan-king to the Terrace of Phoenixes
Phoenixes that play here once, so that the place was named for them, Have abandoned it now to this desolated river; The paths of Wu Palace are crooked with weeds; The garments of Chin
Ch'ing P'ing Tiao
Clouds bring back to mind her dress, the flowers her face. Winds of spring caress the rail where sparkling dew-drops cluster. If you cannot see her by the jewelled mountain top, Maybe on the
Ziyi Song
Chang-an one slip of moon; In ten thousand houses, the sound of fulling mallets. Autumn winds keep on blowing, All things make me think of Jade Pass! When will they put down the barbarians
On A Picture Screen
Whence these twelve peaks of Wu-shan! Have they flown into the gorgeous screen From heaven’s one corner? Ah, those lonely pines murmuring in the wind! Those palaces of Yang-tai, hovering yonder- Oh, the melancholy