English

At the top of this ridge I could whistle happily.
Down at the bottom — I'm feeling depressed!
Looking back now at the thousand peaks:
there — the one lost in the clouds is Mount Lo-fu.

At Peach Blossom Bank is Peach Blossom Retreat,
in Peach Blossom Retreat is the Immortal of Peach Blossoms!
The Immortal of Peach Blossoms planted the peach trees:
he plucks the blossoms and sells them for money to buy wine!
When he's sober, he just sits beneath the blossoms.
When he's drunk, he comes to lie beneath the blossoms.
Half sober, half drunk, day after day,
blossoms fall, blossoms bloom, year after year.
I wish only to grow old and die among blossoms and wine;
I have no desire to bow down before men in horse-drawn carriages!

At night they pound the vermilion newt
and stamens of buttercup;
her ten finger-tips, all transformed
into red gosling beaks.
A leisurely moment — just one tune
she plays on the jade lute:
several petals of flowering peach
float upon the waters.

At Lai Family Village, the spring is beautiful:
the sun setting over a deserted hill,
mist rising against a clear sky.
Willow branches, so gentle, their green still young;
flower buds everywhere, red and elegant.
On paths through the fields—dishes of offerings
for the festival;
beyond a low wall—children playing on swings.
This place, where I rode my bamboo horse happily
as a child,
I pass again, hair turned white, lost in thought.

At her step the water-hen
Springs from her nook, and skimming the clear stream,
Ripples its waters in a sinuous curve,
And dives again in safety.

A YE , at that time our days wer but vew,
An' our lim's wer but small, an' a-growen;
An' then the feäir worold wer new,
An' life wer all hopevul an' gaÿè;
An' the times o' the sprouten o' leaves,
An' the cheäk-burnen seasons o' mowen,
An' binden o' red-headed sheaves,
Wer all welcome seasons o' jaÿè.

Then the housen seem'd high, that be low,
An' the brook did seem wide that is narrow,
An' time, that do vlee, did goo slow,
An' veelens now feeble wer strong,
An' our worold did end wi' the neämes

The winning maid that I have won
Of womankind's the very sun,
That in her dazzling day-light hides
The duller maids I know besides,
Like twinkling stars all wan and weak
That wane from morning's golden streak.
Her soul's as pure's the lofty light
The lark sings in at greatest height;
Her love's as true as low-cast shades
To lofty suns above the glades;
And she is to be woo'd and won
By one alone below the sun;
And God has met my heart to make
A maid so fair for my poor sake,
And did not either bring her on

Ye years unknown, what sorrow and delight
For mortals yet unborn have ye in store!
Behold! I think upon the past no more,
But give my thoughts to you by day and night.
For you I toil, forgetful of the flight
Of fleeting years that I am wafted o'er,
Expecting happiness, unknown before,
In future days of glory calm and bright.

But who can tell how far I have to go
On life's untiring path? or knows the things
Ye yet may bring to pain my heaving breast?

O come propitiously: for in my woe

At daybreak frogs begin saying Buddhist prayers

At a fragrance of plums, a blob, the sun appears on a mountain path
here and there a pheasant call rises
he begins repairing his house while there's nothing to do in spring
news from Kansai raises the price of rice
in the evening there was some pattering — now the moon among clouds
talking with a bush in between — the autumn, the loneliness
" My boss offered to be given my chrysanthemums, dammit! "