Letter to His Two Small Children by Li Po

In the land of Wu the mulberry leaves are green,

Silkworms in Wu have now had three sleeps:

My family, left in eastern Lu,

Oh, to sow now Turtle-shaded fields,

Do the Spring things I can never join.

Sailing Yangtze always on my own—

 

Let the South Wind blow you back my heart,

Fly and land it in the Tavern Court

Where, to the East, there are sprays and leaves

Of one peach tree, sweeping the blue mist;

 

This is the tree I myself put in

When I left you, nearly three years past;

A peach tree now, level with the eaves,

And I sailing cannot yet turn home!

 

Pretty daughter, P’ing-yang is your name,

Breaking blossom, you cannot see me

And your tears flow like the running stream;

 

And little son, Po-ch’in you are called,

Your big sister’s shoulder you must reach

When you come there underneath my peach,

Oh to pat and pet you too, my child!

 

I dreamt like this till my wits went wild,

By such yewarning dialy burned within;

So tore some silk, wrote this distant pang

From me to you living at Wen Yang…

Quiet Night Thoughts by Li Po

Before my bed

there is bright moonlight

So that it seems

like frost on the ground:

Lifting my head

I watch the bight moon,

Lowering my head

I dream that I'm home.

For Wei Pa, In Retirement by Tu Fu

Our livelong days we never meeting

Move as do stars in other clusters,

Yet this evening (“And what an evening!”)

We’re sharing this lamp and candlelight;

But youth and strength, how briefly it lasts

For both our heads have become grizzled

And half of those we ask about, ghosts,

Till cries of shock pierce our very breasts:

How could we know twenty years would pass

Before I came again to your house?

Though in those days you were unmarried

Suddenly sons and daughters troop in,

“Greet merrily Papa’s Companion,”

Ask from what parts it is that I come?

But such exchange remains unfinished:

You chase them off to get out the wine

“And in night rain pull up spring onions”

To be steamed fresh with yellow millet…

Now (with your “Come, we can meet seldom”)

You’ve charged my glass ten times in sequence:

Ten times and still I’m not quite tipsy

But filled with sense of old acquaintance;

For tomorrow the hills divide us,

Both out of sight in the world’s affairs!

Jade Flower Palace by Tu Fu

The stream swirls. The wind moans in 
           

The pines. Gray rats scurry over 
           

Broken tiles. What prince, long ago, 
           

Built this palace, standing in 
         

Ruins beside the cliffs? There are 
           

Green ghost fires in the black rooms. 
           

The shattered pavements are all 
           

Washed away. Ten thousand organ 
           

Pipes whistle and roar. The storm 
     

Scatters the red autumn leaves. 
           

His dancing girls are yellow dust. 
           

Their painted cheeks have crumbled 
           

Away. His gold chariots 
           

And courtiers are gone. Only 
      

A stone horse is left of his 
           

Glory. I sit on the grass and 
           

Start a poem, but the pathos of 
           

It overcomes me. The future 
           

Slips imperceptibly away. 

Who can say what the years will bring? 

Night Thoughts Afloat by Tu Fu

By bent grasses


in a gentle wind


Under straight mast


I’m alone tonight,

 

And the stars hang


above the broad plain


But moon’s afloat


in this Great River:

 

Oh, where’s my name


among the poets?


Official rank?


“Retired for ill-health.”

Drifting, drifting,


what am I more than


A single gull


between sky and earth?