I have been ill so long that I do not count the days;
At the southern window, evening—and again evening.
Sadly chirping in the grasses under my eaves
The winter sparrows morning and evening sing.
By an effort I rise and lean heavily on my bed;
Tottering I step towards the door of the courtyard.
By chance I meet a friend who is coming to see me;
Just as if I had gone specially to meet him.
They took my couch and set it in the setting sun;
They spread my rug and I lean on the balcony-pillar.
Tranquil talk was better than any medicine;
Gradually the feelings came back to my numbed heart.

gtranslated by Arthur Waley

Sent as a present from Annam—
A red cockatoo.
Coloured like the peach-tree blossom,
Speaking with the speech of men.
And they did to it what is always done
To the learned and eloquent.
They took a cage with stout bars
And shut it up inside.

translated by Arthur Waley

The water country’s reeds and rushes, night, covered with frost;
The moon’s coldness, the mountains’ cast share a bleak, pale blue.
Who can say, from this night on, a thousand li away,
My dreams of you, dim as the distant frontier?

tranateds by Eric W. Johnson

9/9, out drinking on Dragon Mountain,
I’m an exile among yellow blossoms smiling.

Soon drunk, I watch my cap tumble in wind,
dance in love—a guest the moon invites.

translated by David Hinton

It’s forever since I faced East Mountain.
How many times have roses bloomed there,

or clouds returned, and thinned away,
a bright moon setting over whose home?

translated by David Hinton

You arrived, a traveler from Ch’ang-an,
and now, returning there, you leave.

Headlong wind carries my thoughts away,
filling trees there in the western capital,

uneasy. There’s no saying how this feels,
or if we’ll ever meet again. I look far

without seeing you—look, and it’s all
mist-gathered mountains opening away.

translated by David Hinton

In our magnolia-oared apple-wood boat
gold flutes and jade pipes for and aft
a thousand liters of fine wine on board
we drift with courtesans beside us

A Taoist is waiting to ride off on a crane
a fisherman ignores the gulls walking behind him
the songs of Ch’u Yuan are heard here night and day
the King of Ch’u’s garden palace is a desolate hill

Inspired by wine I write this and the sacred mountains shake
the islands of immortals resound when I’m done
if fame or fortune could somehow last
the waters of the Han would flow upstream

translated by Red Pine

Tung-t’ing autumn stretches away forever.
About to set sail on a homeward-bound boat,

I can’t tell which lands are Ch’u, which Wu:
there’s nothing but water merged into sky

all boundless beyond, river trees sunk away,
lakewater spread brimming wide into seas.

One day you’ll be boat and oar of the world
and we’ll sail across rivers vast and mighty.

translated by David Hinton

The sound grates on the river tower, one blast of the horn.
Pale sunlight floods, sinking by the cold shore.
Pointless to lean on the balcony and look back miserably:
There are seventy-five post-stations from here to home.

translated by A.C. Graham