Sending Off Ling Che
Liu Changqing (709-785)
A temple in the vast green bamboo grove
Resounds its bell within the depth and dusk;
The setting sun slopes down your bamboo hat,
As going back from these green hills, you must.
Farewell to Mystic MountainHuangfu Ran (~ 716-769)
All day the water flows until it fades, unseen,
At dusk, when grass grows deep in spring and earth recedes—
At times, it’s true, the dogs will bark and chickens squawk,
But who would pull an almond nut from berry seeds?
Fresh Wood (for Luo Xue)Wen Tianxiang (1236-1283)
A sigh, sigh sound from woods up high to low;
We close the gate and cover up with fur—
Spring feelings flow along the mountain gorge;
At dawn I rise to touch and look at her.
Midnight Song 2
Xiao Yan, Emperor Wu of Liang (464-549)
The morning sunshine strokes the window silk
As wind and light together play with strings;
She smiles with subtle ease and lifts her eyes
As when a butterfly brings up its wings.
Cold Meal Night
Cui Daorong (~895)
In Manchu land the pears now blossom white
As moonlight broken by the blowing wind.
Here all the people fast for Cold Meal Night;
I gaze at home alone—cast off and thin.
A Nightly Song
Shen Yue (441-513)
I leave the door ajar for you to come
But every night we part before it’s bright;
The moonlight shines across my pillowcase
To hide in bed between the lantern’s light.
Huangfu Ran (716-769)
I’d like for us to chase the tides beyond,
But time is up for us as fishing men;
Now face-to-face, aware we will not meet—
The end has come, we must begin again.
A Play for Cold Meal DayLu Yanrang (~ 900)
On Twelfth Street here it’s like a packed bazaar,
A world of dust that’s choked and cannot clear;
We work like ox until our sweat pours out,
No time to sit and watch the flowers near.
Hán Shí Rì Xì
CicadasYu Shinan (558-638)
He dangles down to drink the clear light dew,
Exuding sound through the green leaf brush;
And flowing far and wide, his voice flies on
Without the need of wind from autumn’s rush.
Bamboo RetreatWang Wei (692-761)
Alone I sit within the bamboo grove
And lift my lute to strum and hum along;
Within this depth of woods a man forgets —
The bright moon comes to mix its light with song.
Zhú Lǐ Guǎn