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

I remember the spring of the year before last—
You said nothing but were full of sadness.
Now I have returned but you are gone!
The ornamented zither has lasted longer than you.
To-day, a pine at the bottom of the valley;
To-morrow, a po tree on the top of the hill!
I shall grieve till heaven and earth turn round,
Till we no longer recognize each other face to face!

translated by James J. Y. Liu

Distant letters and home-going dreams are both few and far between;
Only the empty bed valiantly faces the pale autumn.
Under the steps, nothing but green moist and red leaves.
In rain, there is solitude; in moonlight, grief.

translated by James J. Y. Liu

Against the screen of “mother-of-clouds” the candle throws its deep shadow;
The Long River gradually sinks, the morning star sets.
Ch’ang-o should regret having stolen the elixir:
The green sea—the blue sky—her heart every night!

translated by James J. Y. Liu