Lumen Island and its city walls revealed in this painting: they
remind me how I once moored a boat there at West Pavilion,

but heart and mind given to old age can’t find long-ago times.
I rely on rivers and mountains for what’s ancient and remains.

translated by David Hinton

No light within the court, and moss climbs the stairs;
I move my couch, sit sprawled beneath the courtyard ash.
Cool clouds across the water, not likely it will rain;
Thin lightning leans against the mountain, no thunder yet.
In willows’ shade I watch paired magpies settle;
To bamboos’ depths from time to time come fireflies.
This great official feels drier than Hsiang-ju;
To quench that thirst, would I be thinking only of a single cup of dew?

translated by J.P. Seaton

A pair of red-collared swallows gently brush the waves:
From both banks, flowng foam and tiny ripples are born.
Heading south or north, two boats pass each other without a word,
As a sail in the wind cuts a swath on the river just for one instant.

translated by Irving Lo

From the traveler, singing; from the field, weeping—both spur sorrow.
Fires in the distance, dipping stars move slowly toward extinction.
Am I waiting up for New Year’s Eve? Aching eyes won’t close.
No one here speaks my dialect: I long for home.
A double quilt and my feet still cold—the frost must be heavy;
my head feels light—I washed it and the hair is getting thin.
I thank the flickering torch that doesn’t refuse
to keep me company on a lonely boat through the night.

translated by Burton Watson

In the village there is a crying child;
Wail upon wail, it calls for its mother.
Its mother is dead; blood soaks her clothing,
But still she clasps it to her breast to suckle.

translated by William Schultz

I don’t want to come, yet suddenly I’m here;
I don’t want to go, and suddenly I’m gone.
Don’t know where I’ve come from or where I’m going.
In this, of course, there is true waxing and waning.
Since Heaven can’t speak, I’ll tell on its behalf:
Just wait for Old Master Chaos to give back my life—
If he looks for me, he’ll naturally find me.

Translated by J.P. Seaton

At dawn I climb a river tower to its very highest storey,
The gentle and delicate look of departing sail is hard to bear.
The tide stretches a thousand yards below White Sand Pavilion;
Sending a homesick heart all the way back to Mo-ling.

translated by Daniel Bryant