Li Po

I took leave of you, old friend, at
Yellow Crane Pavilion;
In the mist and bloom of March, you wentdown to Yang-chou:
A lonely sail, distant shades, extinguished by blue—There, at the horizon, where river meets sky

You ask how I spend my time—I nestle against a treetrunkand listen to autumn windsin the pines all night and day
Shantung wine can't get me drunk
The local poets bore me
My thoughts remain with you,like the Wen River, endlessly flowing

When first my hair began to cover my forehead,
I picked and played with flowers before the gate
You came riding on a bamboo horse,
And circled the walkway, playing with green plums

Amongst the grandeur of Hua ShanI climb to the Flower Peak,and fancy I see fairies and immortalscarrying lotus in theirsacred white hands, robes flowingthey fly filling the sky with colouras they rise to the palace of heaven,inviting me to go to t...

Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows near the tower
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words

I came here a wandererthinking of home,remembering my far away Ch'ang-an
And then, from deep in Yellow Crane Pavillion,
I heard a beautiful bamboo fluteplay "Falling Plum Blossoms
"It was late spring in a city by the river

A slip of the moon hangs over the capital;
Ten thousand washing-mallets are pounding;
And the autumn wind is blowing my heart For ever and ever toward the Jade Pass
Oh, when will the Tartar troops be conquered,

Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head

The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop

As down Mount Emerald at eve I came, The mountain moon went all the way with me
Backward I looked, to see the heights aflame With a pale light that glimmered eerily
A little lad undid the rustic latch As hand in hand your cottage we did ...

A pity it is evening, yetI do love the water of this springseeing how clear it is, how clean;rays of sunset gleam on it,lighting up its ripples, making itone with those who travelthe roads;
I turn and facethe moon; sing it a song, thenlisten ...

See how the Yellow River's water move out of heaven
Entering the ocean,never to return
See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers,
Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow