Short Poems

A quick climb to the Incense Terrace
to watch the setting sun;
a single tree in the sandbank village
darkens, dim and faint.
The old monk does not come out
from the temple in green hills,
only the boom of the temple bell
escorts the visitor down.

The Purple Precincts touch Longevity Mountain
to the west;
twice I am summoned to view the Dragon Visage!
I bow down, receive the wise counsel of the Sage,
and then, my sleeves filled with Heaven's fragrance,
I emerge through the ninefold gates.

The precincts at day, quiet leisure of spring:
I give myself to the solitude, linger at my meals.
Gazing at flowers, I lean against the tree;
listening to birds, walk by the fragrant pond.
The courtyard is warm, a gathering place for the bees;
the stairs under a clear sky — enriched by creeping vines.
Good feelings come from every spot:
it's easy to write new poems.

The place is calm, dusty worries clear;
after rain, the mountain takes on luster.
Pool pavilion hides a quiet place;
lute and wine express our yearning feelings.
Verdant, these flourishing spring woods,
bringing rest to our weary wings.
On the rock are inscribed words:
moss eats at them, they are hard to read ( pien ).

Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes
Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour;
Who nought enjoy'd, while young, denied the means;
And nought, when old, enjoy'd, denied the pow'r.

Quitting kickball, the gods
went out to prepare for war.
Picking up the globelike ball that was left and holding it by his side,
a bridegroom, a god, walked quietly
to the house made of white wood, fresh with fragrance, and hid in it.
Suddenly, from there
a sound as limpid as a birth cry came out, running,
and in the clear cold dawn, in a bush, spilled a plum blossom.

Piped a tiny voice hard by,
Gay and polite, a cheerful cry,
" Chic-chicadee-dee! " Saucy note
Out of a sound heart and a merry throat,
As if it said, " Good day, good sir.
Fine afternoon, old passenger!
Happy to meet you in these places
When January brings new faces! "

Put on your silks; and piece by piece
Give them the scent of Amber-Greece:
And for your breaths too, let them smell
Ambrosia-like, or Nectarell:
While other Gums their sweets perspire,
By your owne jewels set on fire.

Prue, my dearest Maid, is sick,
Almost to be Lunatick:
AEsculapius! come and bring
Means for her recovering;
And a gallant Cock shall be
Offer'd up by Her, to Thee.

Endow the fool with sun and moon,
Being his, he holds them mean and low,
But to the wise a little boon
Is great, because the giver's so.