No More Learning

[91] Who rescued a foundling.


ON BEING SIXTY

Addressed to Liu M? ng-t? , who had asked for a poem. He was the same
age as Po Chu-i.

Between thirty and forty, one is distracted by the Five Lusts;
Between seventy and eighty, one is a prey to a hundred diseases.
But from fifty to sixty one is free from all ills;
Calm and still--the heart enjoys rest.
I have put behind me Love and Greed; I have done with Profit and
Fame;
I am still short of illness and decay and far from decrepit age.
Strength of limb I still possess to seek the rivers and hills;
Still my heart has spirit enough to listen to flutes and strings.
At leisure I open new wine and taste several cups;
Drunken I recall old poems and sing a whole volume.
M? ng-t? has asked for a poem and herewith I exhort him
Not to complain of three-score, "the time of obedient ears. "[92]

[92] Confucius said that it was not till _sixty_ that "his ears obeyed
him. " This age was therefore called "the time of obedient ears.
"


CLIMBING THE TERRACE OF KUAN-YIN AND LOOKING AT THE CITY

Hundreds of houses, thousands of houses,--like a chess-board.
The twelve streets like a field planted with rows of cabbage.
In the distance perceptible, dim, dim--the fire of approaching dawn;
And a single row of stars lying to the west of the Five Gates.


CLIMBING THE LING YING TERRACE AND LOOKING NORTH

Mounting on high I begin to realize the smallness of Man's Domain;
Gazing into distance I begin to know the vanity of the Carnal World.
I turn my head and hurry home--back to the Court and Market,
A single grain of rice falling--into the Great Barn.


GOING TO THE MOUNTAINS WITH A LITTLE DANCING GIRL, AGED FIFTEEN

Written when the poet was about sixty-five

Two top-knots not yet plaited into one.
Of thirty years--just beyond half.
You who are really a lady of silks and satins
Are now become my hill and stream companion!
At the spring fountains together we splash and play:
On the lovely trees together we climb and sport.
Her cheeks grow rosy, as she quickens her sleeve-dancing:
Her brows grow sad, as she slows her song's tune.
Don't go singing the Song of the Willow Branches,[93]
When there's no one here with a heart for you to break!

[93] A plaintive love-song, to which Po Chu-i had himself written words.


DREAMING OF YUAN CH? N

This was written eight years after Yuan Ch? n's death, when Po-Chu-i
was sixty-eight.

At night you came and took my hand and we wandered together in my
dream;
When I woke in the morning there was no one to stop the tears that
fell on my handkerchief.