We have chosen a timely day,
We wait with hope,
Burning fat and artemisia
To welcome the Four Directions.
Ninefold doors open
For the Gods' journey forth,

They send down sweet grace,
Bounteous good fortune.
The chariot of the Gods
Is hitched to dark clouds,
Yoked to flying dragons,
Feather pennants amassed.

The coming down of the Gods
Is like wind-driven horses;
On the left turquoise dragon,
On the right white tiger.

The coming of the Gods
Is divine! What a drenching!
First bringing rain

In the north there is a lovely woman,
Beyond compare, unique.
One glance destroys a man's city,
A second glance destroys a man's kingdom.
Would you rather not know a city and kingdom destroyer?
Such beauty you won't find twice!

Preface

While Ssu-ma Hsiang-ju was traveling through Lin-ch'iung, a rich man there named Cho Wang-sun had a daughter, Wen-chün, who had recently been widowed. She hid behind a screen and peeped through. Hsiang-ju won her heart with these songs:

Cock-Phoenix

Cock-phoenix, cock-phoenix goes back to his hometown
From roaming the four seas in search of his hen.
Unlucky days — he found no way to meet her.
What a surprise! Tonight up in this hall,
In this very place is a girl sweet and pretty.
My bedroom so near, she so far — it pains my heart.

A great wind arises — billowing clouds fly;
His majesty dominating all within the seas, he returns to his old hometown.
Where can he find brave warriors to guard the four directions?

Buddha is not more strange
and impersonal
than you, o belly
waiting for the doctor's probe,
or you, phallus
wrinkled as an old crocodile
in a salt marsh.
Horn of schlemiel!
Uxorious! Imperative! Boaster! Father!
Outside the order of imagination
and the public interest.

Father! In what way father? Too old.
Can't tell him though.
Nor he me. Too much pain in the eyes.
His black obsidian gaze is closed to me
(may be just light refracted)
Why closed?
He can be fond and amiable
Dangerous to press for more

South of Hsien-yang,
gazing in a straight line for five thousand miles,
I see the soaring crags and spires of clouded ranges.
There before me the Sword Gallery cuts across,
Suspended from the sky
to provide a passage through the center.
Up above are
pine winds that rustle, whistle, sough, and sigh;
And there the gibbons of Pa, sadly crying to one another.
On every side
flying chutes rush through the chasms,
Spattering stones, splashing the Gallery,
surging and gushing with frightening thunder.

To get out of this and go back home!
My fields and garden will be overgrown with weeds —
I must go back.
It was my own doing that made my mind my body's slave
Why should I go on in melancholy and lonely grief?
I realize that there's no remedying the past
But I know that there's hope in the future.
After all I have not gone far on the wrong road
And I am aware that what I do today is right, yesterday wrong.
My boat rocks in the gentle breeze
Flap, flap, the wind blows my gown;
I ask a passerby about the road ahead,

I
The secluded gentleman,
In sympathy with the extraordinary,
And in love with the strange,
Scorns the world and is unmindful of prestige.
He breaks away from human endeavor and leaves it behind.
He gazes up at the lofty, longing for the days of old;
He ponders lengthily, his thoughts wandering afar.
He would
Climb Mount Chi in order to maintain his moral integrity;
Or float on the blue sea to amble with his ambition.

The Crown Prince of Ch'u having fallen ill, a guest from Wu went to ask after his health.
" I have heard, " said the guest, " of Your Highness' discomfort, and was wondering whether you might have improved somewhat? "
" I am exhausted, " said the Prince. " Thank you ever so much for your concern. " The guest, accordingly, seized this opportunity to offer his advice:
" Presently,
The kingdom is at peace;
everywhere, there is harmony.
And you are,
at this moment, in the prime of your life.
Yet, I should imagine that

Brushing away the dust, I opened the broken box
and suddenly held a friend's poem in my hand.
Touching this paper, I felt he was still alive —
but then remembered his death, how hard it would be to find him.
I recalled when we were in Suchou,
how everyone praised his literary talent.
In conversation, he analyzed profound principles
and sent forth fragrant words from his heart.
At that time, I was staying in the northern quarter
in a quiet studio overlooking a pond.
Burning orchid-lamps, we invited the moon to join us;