news at this far western station! The north has been recaptured!, at first I cannot check the tears from pouring on my coat.
where is my wife and my son? Little sorrow on their face., yet crazily I pack my books and poems.
and loud my song and deep my drink, on the green spring-day that starts me home.
back from this mountain, past another mountain, up from the south, north again-to my own town!. Yellow crane tower Cui Hao
where long ago a yellow crane bore a sage to heaven, nothing is left now but the Yellow Crane Terrace.
the yellow crane never revisited earth, and white clouds are flying without him for ever.
every tree in Hanyang becomes clear in the water, and Parrot Island is a nest of sweet grasses.
but I look toward home, and twilight grows dark, with a mist of grief on the river waves.
on climbing in nanjing to the terrace of phoenixes Li Bai
phoenixes that played here once, so that the place was named for them, have abandoned it now to this desolate river.
the paths of Wu Palace are crooked with weeds, the garments of Jin are ancient dust.
Three mountains and a half fall in the sky, like this Island of White Egrets dividing the river.
a cloud has arisen between the Light of Heaven and me, to hide his city from my melancholy heart.
after the broken mountain temple, the Buddhist temple is often built
in the pure morning, near the old temple, where early sunlight points the tree-tops.
my path has wound, through a sheltered hollow, of boughs and flowers, to a Buddhist retreat.
here birds are alive with mountain-light, and the mind of man touches peace in a pool.
everything is silent here, except the sound of the clock.
Deng Gao Du Fu
in a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering, birds are flying homeward over the clear lake and white sand.
leaves are dropping down like the spray of a waterfall, while I watch the long river always rolling on.
I have come three thousand miles away. Sad now with autumn, and with my hundred years of woe, I climb this height alone.
ill fortune has laid a bitter frost on my temples, heart-ache and weariness are a thick dust in my wine.
Li shangyin
gone is the guest from the Chamber of Rank, and petals, confused in my little garden.
zigzagging down my crooked path, escort like dancers the setting sun.
oh, how can I bear to sweep them away?, to a sad-eyed watcher they never return.
heart's fragrance is spent with the ending of spring, and nothing left but a tear-stained robe.
Deng Yueyang Tower Du Fu
I had always heard of Lake Dongting, and now at last I have climbed to this tower.
with Wu country to the east of me and Chu to the south, I can see heaven and earth endlessly floating.
but no word has reached me from kin or friends, I am old and sick and alone with my boat.
north of this wall there are wars and mountains, and here by the rail how can I help crying?.
meeting Zhang Jiuling
tender orchid-leaves in spring, and cinnamon-blossoms bright in autumn.
are as self-contained as life is, which conforms them to the seasons.
yet why will you think that a forest-hermit, allured by sweet winds and contented with beauty.
would no more ask to-be transplanted，than Would any other natural flower?.
Zhang Jiuling, looking at the moon and thinking of one far away
the moon, grown full now over the sea, Tianya * * * At this time.
brings to separated hearts, the long thoughtfulness of night.
it is no darker though I blow out my candle, it is no warmer though I put on my coat.
so I leave my message with the moon, and turn to my bed, hoping for dreams.
Du Shaofu was appointed as Wang Bo of Shuzhou
by this wall that surrounds the three Qin districts, through a mist that makes five rivers one.
we bid each other a sad farewell, we two officials going opposite ways.
and yet, while China holds our friendship, and heaven remains our neighbourhood.
why should you linger at the fork of the road, children * * * with towels.