Chapter I: Will Be Alone

THIS LAKE AT KUEN-MING, HOW WONDROUS IT WAS IN THE DAYS OF HAN! THEN IT FLOATED A PARADE OF PROUD WAR-JUNKS GAY WITH FLAGS ... NOW IT IS ONLY A BARE MIRROR AT NIGHT FOR THE SPINNING BOY ... THAT STAR-BOY WHO DOES NOT FLEE FROM COLD.

BLACK SEED-PODS FROM THE KOUMI BLOW ON IT NOW. THERE ARE LILIES AND LOTUS-FLOWERS TOO ... BUT SOON THE NORTH WIND WILL RIP AWAY THEIR LEAVES.

AND I WILL BE ALONE WITH MY UNHAPPINESS.
[_Tu Fu_]

REMEMBER TO WEAR THEM

A SHADOW ON THE WINDOW-SCREEN.... WHO COMES GATHERING MY FLOWERS? SHE MAY PICK THEM IF SHE WILL, BUT WHAT WILL SHE DO WITH THEM?

THE BEST SPRAYS ARE THERE BENEATH THE EAVES. PICK MORE OF THESE ... AND REMEMBER, YOU WHO GATHER FLOWERS, WEAR THEM IN YOUR HAIR. [_Chiang Chieh_]

WILD GEESE

FAR IN THE NORTHWEST STANDS A HOUSE, HIGH ITS TOWER IN THE CLOUDS. EMBROIDERED CURTAINS ARE AT THE WINDOWS. THE TOWER RISES IN THREE STEPS, AND FROM THE TOWER FLOATS A SONG, A SAD SONG WITH A SAD LUTE PLAYING BESIDE IT. WHO CAN THE SINGER BE?

SURELY IT IS SHE WHO HAS NO HUSBAND LEFT TO HER, NO FATHER LEFT, NO CHILD. HER SONG FOLLOWS THE WIND; IT RISES AND FALLS. WITH THE SINGING, SOBBING ... GRIEF IS VICTOR OVER HER STRONG WILL.

SHE DOES NOT SORROW THAT HER LIFE IS SAD, BUT THAT SO FEW CAN UNDERSTAND THE SORROW IN HER SONG. O, TO FLY LIKE THOSE TWO WILD GEESE, RISING WITH BEATING WINGS! [_Anonymous_]

CONTENTMENT

LAZILY WAVING A WHITE-FEATHERED FAN I LIE NAKED ... A GREEN DELL IN THE MOUNTAINS. I HANG MY HAT ON A JUTTING ROCK ... I COOL MY HEAD WITH PINEY AIR. [_Li Po_]

TO THE EMPEROR

WITH THIS I SEND A MIRROR ... IT IS PURE ROUND AND IT IS CLEAR WHITE, TO REMIND YOU OF THE MOON WE GAZED AT WHEN WE WERE LAST TOGETHER IN THE GARDEN.

MAY IT ALWAYS STAY WITH YOU, AND MAY IT STIR SWEET MEMORIES.

BUT I KNOW: BY AUTUMN YOU WILL CAST IT ASIDE FOR SOMETHING NEW, AS YOU HAVE CAST ASIDE ITS LOVING SENDER. [_The emperor’s favorite, Pan Tie tsu_]

WHEN THE SWALLOWS RETURNED

WHEN THE SWALLOWS RETURNED LAST YEAR THEY MADE THEIR NEST IN THE EMBROIDERY ROOM. THEY GATHERED CLAY FROM THE FLOWER-GARDEN, AND SCATTERED DUST OVER HARP AND BOOKS.

WHEN THE SWALLOWS RETURNED THIS YEAR, NO ONE HEARD THEIR TWITTERING SPEECH. SHE WHO HAD ROLLED UP THE SCREEN FOR THEM WAS THERE NO MORE.... IN THE AMBER TWILIGHT A SOFT-PATTERING RAIN. [_Hsin Ch’i-chi_]

THE WORLD AROUND US

DREAD LORD, DO NOT WAVE YOUR SCEPTER: IT IS BEJEWELED. DEAR DANCER, DO NOT WHIRL YOUR SCARVES: THEY ARE ORCHID-FLOWERED. PALE POET, DO NOT FLAUNT YOUR HEART: IT IS RADIANT WITH LOVE.

OUR WORLD CARES ONLY FOR UNENCHANTED THINGS.
[_Li Po_]

YOUNG GIRLS OF OLD

IN A TINY GROVE WITH FLOWERS EVERYWHERE, YOUNG GIRLS OF DAYS GONE BY SIT LOOKING IN THEIR MIRRORS.

THEY SAY: “SOMETIMES WE THINK THAT WE HAVE GROWN OLD, THAT OUR HAIR IS WHITE AND OUR EYES NO LONGER CLEAR AS THE NEW MOON.... BUT IT IS NOT TRUE! OUR MIRRORS ARE BEWITCHED WITH WINTER, AND THEY LIE! IT IS THE MIRRORS THAT MAKE OUR HAIR LIKE SNOW AND WRINKLE OUR YOUNG FACES! BUT WICKED WINTER CAN BEWITCH OUR MIRRORS ONLY, NOT OURSELVES.... FOREVER, WE ARE UNCHANGED.” [_Wang Chang-ling_]

THE MINIATURE PAVILION

HERE IS THE LITTLE LAKE, HERE THE LITTLE PAVILION OF WHITE PORCELAIN. THE TINY JADE BRIDGE CURVES ... THE BACK OF A CROUCHING LION.

BOON COMPANIONS GATHER IN THE MINIATURE HALL. THEY CHATTER AND DRINK WINE.... THEY STARE AT THE FLICKERING REFLECTIONS OF PEONIES THAT LINE THE BANK. SOME OF THE COMPANIONS, LONG SLEEVES PUSHED BACK, CAPS LOW OVER EYES, ARE WRITING POEMS.

THE ARCH OF THE BRIDGE IS A CRESCENT MOON.... THE REFLECTED PEONIES A COMPANY OF DANCING GIRLS. [_Li Po_]

PICKING THE LOTUS

THE HARVEST MOON IS BURNING THE WATERS OF SOUTH LAKE. DRIFTING ALONE, I LEAN DOWN TO PICK WHITE LOTUS LILIES.

FIERCE DESIRE PULLS ME.... I YEARN TO TELL THEM OF MY PASSION. ALAS, MY BOAT FLOATS AWAY AT MERCY OF THE MOVING CURRENT. MY HEART LOOKS BACK IN SADNESS. [_Li Po_]

A FLUTE AT NIGHT

HERE ON THE FAR SOUTHERN BORDER THE SAND BELOW THE MOUNTAIN LIES LIKE A FIELD OF SNOW, THE MOONLIGHT IS LIKE FROST ALONG THE CITY-WALL. SOMEONE SOMEWHERE PLAYING ON HIS FLUTE HAS MADE THE NORTHERN SOLDIERS HOMESICK ALL NIGHT LONG. [_Li Yi_]

WATCHING AND WONDERING

HIGH ON A HILL, LOOKING DOWN ON THE WINDY LAKE. SEE: A LITTLE ROCKING BOAT, STORM-TOSSED LIKE OUR LIFE TOGETHER. NOW MIST HAS HIDDEN BOAT AND JOURNEY.

OVER THE MIST THE SUN SETS FAR OFF IN HEAVEN. ONLY HILLS ARE RED: FIELD, HOLLOW AND LAKE ARE BLUE WITH SHADOW.

NOW ISLANDS IN THE LAKE ARE BLACK PEARLS SET IN AMETHYST. NOW THAT WOODED HILL, A HEAD OF WAVING WOMAN’S HAIR, IS BLACK. AND SEE, A CRESCENT COMB OF SILVER MOON.

SAD AND HAPPY, I PICK UP MY LUTE AND SING UNTIL THE STARS GROW PALE.
[_Tsiang-Tien_]

BEST HAPPINESS OF ALL

I AM OLD AND I AM BORED. I WAS NEVER VERY WISE AND MY MIND HAS NEVER WALKED MUCH FURTHER THAN MY FEET. ONLY MY FOREST, MY FOREST ... I GO BACK AND BACK TO WANDER THERE.

THERE BLUE FINGERS OF THE MOON STILL PLAY ON MY OLD LUTE. THERE WIND SCATTERS CLOUDS AND COMES DOWN TO FLUTTER MY ROBE.

YOU ASK ME WHAT IS THE BEST HAPPINESS OF ALL? IN THE FOREST IT IS SWEET TO HEAR A GIRL SINGING ON THE PATH, AFTER SHE HAS STOPPED TO ASK HER WAY, AND THANKED YOU WITH A SMILE. [_Wang-Wei_]

THE BLUE ROBE

BRING ME NO MORE FLOWERS. BRING ME ONLY CYPRESS BOUGHS TO SHROUD MY FACE.

AFTER SUNSET IN THE MOUNTAINS, I WILL PUT ON MY BLUE ROBE WITH LONG SLEEVES, AND GO OUT TO SLEEP AMONG THE BAMBOOS THAT SHE LOVED. [_Tu Fu_]

THE ASHES OF MY HOUSE

WHEN I RETURNED TO THE HOUSE WHERE I HAD BEEN A HAPPY CHILD ... ONLY A PILE OF ASHES WHERE IT HAD STOOD.

I WEPT LONG, AND TO FORGET MY WEEPING, I SAILED OUT ON THE VAST CALM SEA. ON THESE WATERS, IN A STAR-SAPPHIRE NIGHT, I PLAYED MY FLUTE TO THE SUMMER MOON ... MY GRIEF MY MELODY. BUT THE MOON, A WOMAN’S FACE, SOON VEILED ITSELF WITH CLOUD.