The blue hill is my desire,
the green stream my beloved’s love.
Even if the stream flows away,
how can the hill ever change?
Never forgetting the hill, I wonder,
does the stream cry as it leaves?

translated by Ko Won

The perfume of the red water lilies
Dies away. The Autumn air
Penetrates the pearl jade curtain.
Torches gleam on the orchid boats.
Who has sent me a message
Of love from the clouds? It is
The time when the wild swans
Return. The moonlight floods the women’s
Quarters. Flowers, after their
Nature, whirl away in the wind.
Spilt water, after its nature
Flows together at the lowest point.
Those who are of one being
Can never stop thinking of each other.
But, ah, my dear, we are apart,
And I have become used to sorrow.
This love–nothing can ever
Make it fade or disappear.
For a moment it was on my eyebrows,
Now it is heavy in my heart.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth

The way home is a thousand miles;
an autumn night is even longer.
Ten times already I have been home,
but the cock has not yet crowed.

translated by Kim Jong-gil

Night is
A lake shrouded in blue fog.
I am a fisherman
On a sleep’s sailboat,
Fishing dreams.

Even dogs and fowls
have dreams to dream–so some believe.
True, springtime is good for dreaming,
yet I go dreamless.
If only I could dream
and dream till the end of my days. . .

translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch