Chapter I: Dream of a Great House with Ten Thousand Rooms. There All Cold

CREATURES CAN TAKE SHELTER, WITH BRIGHT FACES, OUT OF THE RAIN, OUT OF THE WIND, SAFE IN A HOUSE SOLID AS A MOUNTAIN.

AH, WHEN SHALL I EVER SEE SUCH A HOUSE? COULD I EVER SEE IT ... AH, THOUGH THE WIND TORE DOWN MY HUT ENTIRELY, THOUGH I FROZE TO DEATH IN THE STORM, THEN SHOULD I DIE HAPPY. [_Tu Fu_]

THE STARTLED PLUMS FALL DOWN

THE CLOUDS ARE SOFT, THE WILLOWS DELICATE ... HER HAIR IS FRESHLY DRESSED. SHE PLACES THE FLUTE UPON HER LIPS, AND AS THE SUNSET FADES AND DUSK SETTLES, SHE PLAYS BENEATH THE PALE MOON.

A FRESHLY-OPENED CHERRY BUD ... HER LIPS UPON THE FLUTE. SHE LEANS IN THE CORNER OF THE BALCONY: THE NIGHT IS CHILL, HER SILKEN ROBES ARE THIN, HER FINGERS COLD ... BUT MUSIC FLOATS THROUGH FROSTY WOODS AND STARTLED PLUMS FALL PATTERING DOWN. [_Chang Hsien_]

WEEP NOT, YOUNG WOMEN

IT IS ALWAYS SAD AUTUMN WHEN OUR ENEMIES SWEEP DOWN THEIR RAIDERS FROM THE MOUNTAINS TO INVADE US.

THE TRUMPETS SUMMON THE WARRIORS! THEY WILL RIDE ON TILL THEY COME TO THE GREAT WALL. THEN THEY WILL RIDE BEYOND IT, OUT ON THE GREAT KOBI DESERT.

THERE, ONLY THE COLD BARE MOON. ONLY COLD BEADS OF DEW ON SWORDS AND SHIELDS. HOW THEY SHIVER.

WEEP NOT, YOUNG WOMEN ... THIS IS NO TIME TO START YOUR WEEPING. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG THAT YOU MUST WEEP? [_Li Po_]

BEFORE AND AFTER

LOOKING BACKWARD ... I CANNOT SEE THE ANCIENTS OF DAYS. LOOKING FORWARD ... I CANNOT SEE AGES YET TO COME. ONLY HEAVEN AND EARTH HAVE REMAINED, AND WILL REMAIN FOREVER ... I AM ALONE, I GRIEVE, I DROP TEARS INTO THE DUST. [_Chen Tzu-ang_]

WHY BE JEALOUS?

MY LITTLE BOAT IS MADE OF EBONY; MY FLUTE-STOPS ARE PURE GOLD. WATER LOOSENS STAINS FROM SILK ... WINE LOOSENS SADNESS FROM THE HEART.

WITH GOOD WINE, A GRACEFUL BOAT, AND A SWEET GIRL’S LOVE ... WHY BE JEALOUS OF MERE GODS? [_Li Po_]

A LADY FROM AFAR

THAT NIGHT ... A NIGHT IN EARLY AUTUMN ... WE SAILED TO THE ISLE OF PARROTS. THERE WE GAZED AT THE ROUND MOON, AND LISTENED TO THE WINDY PINES.

SUDDENLY WE HEARD MUSIC ... A SAD SONG COMING ON THE WIND. THERE WAS A SINGER IN A BOAT.

AS IT DREW NEAR US WE SAW A WOMAN, WHITE AS SNOW, SINGING AND CRYING TOO, LEANING ON THE MAST. MY COMPANIONS ASKED HER WHY SHE WEPT?... WITHOUT AN ANSWER SHE LOWERED HER HEAD, VEILING HER WHITE FACE IN HER GOLDEN HAIR. [_Pe Kin-yi_]

TO THE DANCING-GIRL SIAO-LING

YOU CALLED FOR POEMS ABOUT TWILIGHT. EACH TWILIGHT NOW BRINGS MEMORIES OF THE SOFT BLUE DRESS YOU WORE ... THAT DAY IN THE PALACE WHEN YOU READ AND JUDGED THEM.

IF MINE WAS JUDGED THE BEST ... YOU SEE, THERE WAS A VISION OF YOU, A VISION IN BLUE VEILS, IN THE BLUE DAWN WHEN I COULD NOT SLEEP. SO I GOT UP FROM BED AND WROTE THE POEM FOR YOU ...

BUT YOU SLEPT ON UNKNOWING IN THAT EARLY DAWN. YOU DID NOT PEEP OUT FROM THE JADE FLOWER PAVILION TO SEE ROSES BLOOMING IN THE SKY ABOVE THE PALACE. IN THAT SAME PALACE ONCE, FOR LOVE OF HER, WOU-TI MADE EMPRESS A LOVELY DANCING-GIRL LIKE YOU. [_Tsiang-Tien_]

THE GARDEN THAT DOES NOT FADE

THESE FLOWERS OF JADE IN THEIR LITTLE BOX ... MAY YOUR NOBLE THOUGHTS, LIKE THESE FLOWERS, BE ALWAYS INDESTRUCTIBLE AND LOVINGLY ARRANGED. [_Emperor Chien Lung_]

PEASANT SONG

WHEN THE SUN RISES, WE GET UP TO WORK. WHEN THE SUN SETS, WE LIE DOWN TO SLEEP. FOR OUR WATER WE DIG OUR WELLS, FOR OUR FOOD WE HOE OUR FIELDS. O THE EMPEROR MAY BE GREAT AND POWERFUL, BUT WHAT IS THAT TO US? [_Anonymous_]

THE POET DREAMS

NOW SAD RAINS ARE FALLING. LET US SAY NOW: THE SKY WEEPS BECAUSE FINE WEATHER IS ALL GONE. BOREDOM PILES UP LIKE HEAVY RAIN-CLOUDS: WHERE IS OUR GAIETY AND WIT? LET US SIT INDOORS.

NOW IS THE TIME FOR POETRY THAT REMEMBERS SUMMER. LET IT BE PUT DOWN GENTLY ON WHITE PAPER, LIKE FULL-BLOWN PETALS FALLING FROM EXQUISITE TREES. AND LET MY LIPS DRINK FROM THIS CUP OF SUMMER WINE EACH TIME MY BRUSH IS DIPPED INTO THE INK. THUS WILL I KEEP MY FANCY FROM FLOATING OFF LIKE CLOUDS OR SMOKE: TIME PAST ESCAPES FROM US QUICKER THAN A FLIGHT OF BIRDS. [_Tu Fu_]

LAUGHTER IN THE THICKET

THE GAY AND GALLANT YOUTH ... HIS PALACE IS ON THE ROAD OF IMPERIAL TOMBS NEAR THE GOLDEN BAZAAR ... SETS OUT INTO THE SWEET SPRING BREEZE.

HIS TALL WHITE CHARGER, SADDLED WITH SILVER, PRANCES GRACEFULLY IN RHYTHMIC STEPS. BENEATH HIM IS A WHIRLWIND OF PETALS AS HE RIDES THROUGH THE CARPET OF FALLEN BLOSSOMS.

THE YOUTH REINS IN THE CHARGER, PERPLEXED.... A LAUGH, SWEET AND MUSICAL, RINGS FROM THE THICKET; NOW HE IS PERPLEXED NO MORE. [_Li Po_]

SEEING YOU OFF

BECAUSE YOU ARE OLD, BECAUSE YOU ARE LEAVING, MY HANDKERCHIEF IS WET WITH TEARS ... BECAUSE YOU ARE SEVENTY YEARS OLD AND HAVE NO HOME.