Ha! Never make light
of a cup of wine—
it can pour out
our whole lives!

translated by C. H. Kwock & Vincent McHugh

Meeting is hard; parting, hard too.
The east wind’s feeble, yet the hundred flowers fall.
Spring silkworm spins its silk until it dies.
The candle sheds its tears till wick is ashes.
The morning mirror grieves. Clouds of hair are changing.
Song of the night, know moonlight’s cold.
From here to Mount P’eng the way’s not long
but the Green Bird is attentive, watches close.

translated by J.P. Seaton

I see you to Ku-su.
Homes there, sleeping by the stream.
Ancient palace, few abandoned spots.
And the harbor, many little bridges.
In the night market, lotus, fruit and roots.
On the spring barges, satins and gauze.
Know, far off, the moon still watches.
Think of me there, in the fisherman’s song.

translated by J.P. Seaton

Below distant walls, crickets weave autumn song. Tender gaze
drifting low, the moon casts fresh shadows in under the eaves.

The bed curtains are old, ribbons gracing blinds broken short,
and now the cold comes before evening dark starts settling in.

translated by David Hinton

Having fathomed Tao, you went to dwell among simple villages
where bamboo grows thick, opening and closing your gate alone.

This isn’t a mission or pilgrimage. I’ve come for no real reason:
just to sit out on your south terrace and gaze at those mountains.

translated by David Hinton

You ask me the date of my return—no date has been set.
The night rain over the Pa Mountains swells the autumn pond.
O when shall we together trim the candle by the west window,
And talk about the time when the night rain fell on the Pa Mountains?

translated by James J.Y. Liu

My breath is exhausted by the Dance of the Front Brook;
My heart aches at the Midnight Song.
I seek but cannot find the cloud from the Gorge;
What am I to do with the water in the ditch?
The northern wild goose has ceased to bring letters;
The bamboos by the Hsiang are stained with many tears.
I have no means of getting to see your face,
But let me still entrust the tiny ripples with a message!

translated by James J.Y. Liu

Light breeze and dew in the early morning—
By the curtains I rise, all alone.
The oriole cries while the flowers smile:
Who owns this spring after all?

translated by James J.Y. Liu

The Heavenly Emperor’s palace is deeply enclosed within nine gates;
The Great Shaman does not descend to inquire about your wrongs.
Since we parted at Huang-ling, spring waves have kept us apart;
Now a letter comes from the bank of the P’en as the autumn rain falls.
Only Au-jen could have written a fit funeral ovation;
Who says Sung Yü knew how to summon the soul?
A lifelong teacher and friend—this you were to me:
I dare not mourn you outside the door of the inner chamber.

translated by James J.Y. Liu

Living apart, we watched the stars and years change;
All hope gone, we are separated by life and death.
The cinnamon lees gather in the wine jar;
The old rue leaves lie cold on the book labels.
The river wind blows hard on the wild geese;
The mountain trees, sheltering cicadas, stand in the setting sun.
A single cry, a thousand times turning back the head—
But heaven is high and does not hear!

translated by James J.Y. Liu