When you fall asleep on the beach
The wind pulls up short at your mouth
Waves stealthily lap nearby
Shaped in soft curves
The dream is all alone
The sea is much too far away

translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin

When grasses in Yen ripple like emerald silk
and lush mulberry branches sag in Ch’in,

he’ll dream of coming home one day,
and I’ll still be waiting, brokenhearted.

We’re strangers, spring wind and I. Why is it
here, slipping inside my gauze bed-curtains?

translated by David Hinton

Her jade-white staircase is cold with dew;
Her silk soles are wet, she lingered there so long. . .
Behind her closed casement, why is she still waiting,
Watching through its crystal pane the glow of the autumn moon?

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu

Blue is the water and clear the moon.
He is out on the South Lake,
Gathering white lilies.
The lotus flowers seem to whisper love,
And fill the boatman’s heart with sadness.

translated by Shigeyoshi Obata

High in September’s frontier winds, white
brocade feathers, the Mongol falcon flies

alone, a flake of snow, a hundred miles
some fleeting speck of autumn in its eyes.

translated by David Hinton

Red azalea, smiling
From the cliffside at me,
You make my heart shudder with fear!
A body could smash and bones splinter in the canyon–
Beauty, always looking on at disaster.

But red azalea on the cliff,
That you comb your twigs even in a mountain gale
Calms me down a bit.
Of course you’re not willfully courting danger,
Nor are you at ease with whatever happens to you.
You’re merely telling me: beauty is nature.

Would anyone like to pick a flower
To give to his love
Or pin to his own lapel?
On the cliff there is no road
And no azaleas grow where there is a road.
If someone actually reached that azalea,
Then an azalea would surely bloom in his heart.

Red azalea on the cliff,
You smile like the Yellow Mountains,
Whose sweetness encloses slyness,
Whose intimacy embraces distance.
You remind us all of our…

I did not expect
the honesty within
a heart open
a promise
in the picture
of your eyes
so soon
too soon
for an old heart
grown weary
these many years
from home