A bank of fine grass and light breeze
A tall-masted solitary night boat.
Stars descend over the vast wild plain;
The moon bobs in the Great River’s flow.
Fame: is it ever to be won in literature?
Office: I should give up, old and sick.
Floating, floating, what am I like?
Between earth and sky, a gull alone.
translated by James J.Y. Liu & Irving Y. Lo
Utterly lovely.
I agree.
lovely
Glad you liked it.
yeah .as Keats’s”forlorn”.
Tu Fu was far from home when he wrote it.
yeah