Short Poems

Singing, dancing — handsome actors entertain;
guests have been invited to the courtyard.
The singers' mats hold the setting sun;
the dancers' sleeves flap in the east wind.
Lakeside willows — this smoky mist is hard to prohibit!
Flowering peach — a fire burning red by itself!
Village women come to ride the swing;
when they're done kicking, their hair is a mess!

Since I parted from you, immortal bird,
I have lived in dust for more than ten days.
You must be perched on your accustomed bamboo;
your voice, I recall, reached high into the clouds.
You still must have a mind to fly ten thousand miles:
how far can it be for you to the Three Mountains?
On a night of flute music and brilliant moonlight
I will come to watch your elegant dance.

Silent, the autumn river, fishermen's fires sparse.
I rise to watch the waning moon shine faintly on the trees.
Moonlight on the waves — the waterbirds are kept awake;
dew chilling the fireflies — they are too damp to fly.

Sheer cliff, far mountains,
blue-green shadows flow;
the wild goose flies off in space,
the southern sky so vast.
What year will I construct a home
here, beneath the pines,
and sit to listen to the waterfall,
cold in summer months?

Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass — innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring,
Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,
A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect,
But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.

The day she began using chopsticks:
A shrike calls when I kiss my infant's cheek

Shew me thy feet; shew me thy legs, thy thighes;
Shew me Those Fleshie Principalities;
Shew me that Hill (where smiling Love doth sit)
Having a living Fountain under it.
Shew me thy waste; Then let me there withall,
By the Assention of thy Lawn, see All.

Sleep, my babe, lie still and slumber,
All through the night,
Guardian angels God will lend thee,
All through the night;
Soft, the drowsy hours are creeping.
Hill and vale in slumber steeping.
Mother, dear, her watch is keeping,
All through the night.

Sleep, little one, sleep,
Your daddy's watching the sheep,
Your mummy guards the little lambs,
In the sweet green meadow land,
Sleep, little one, sleep.