Little girls ought to be
daintily
fed:
Mrs.
Mrs.
Waley - 170 Chinese Poems
Tranquil talk was better than any medicine;
Gradually the feelings came back to my numbed heart.
ON THE WAY TO HANGCHOW: ANCHORED ON THE RIVER AT NIGHT
Little sleeping and much grieving,--the traveller
Rises at midnight and looks back towards home.
The sands are bright with moonlight that joins the shores;
The sail is white with dew that has covered the boat.
Nearing the sea, the river grows broader and broader:
Approaching autumn,--the nights longer and longer.
Thirty times we have slept amid mists and waves,
And still we have not reached Hang-chow!
STOPPING THE NIGHT AT JUNG-YANG
I grew up at Jung-yang;
I was still young when I left.
On and on,--forty years passed
Till again I stayed for the night at Jung-yang.
When I went away, I was only eleven or twelve;
This year I am turned fifty-six.
Yet thinking back to the times of my childish games,
Whole and undimmed, still they rise before me.
The old houses have all disappeared;
Down in the village none of my people are left.
It is not only that streets and buildings have changed;
But steep is level and level changed to steep!
Alone unchanged, the waters of Ch'iu and Yu
Passionless,--flow in their old course.
THE SILVER SPOON
While on the road to his new province, Hang-chow, in 822, he sends a
silver spoon to his niece A-kuei, whom he had been obliged to leave
behind with her nurse, old Mrs. Ts'ao.
To distant service my heart is well accustomed;
When I left home, it wasn't _that_ which was difficult
But because I had to leave Miss Kuei at home--
For this it was that tears filled my eyes.
Little girls ought to be daintily fed:
Mrs. Ts'ao, please see to this!
That's why I've packed and sent a silver spoon;
You will think of me and eat up your food nicely!
THE HAT GIVEN TO THE POET BY LI CHIEN
Long ago to a white-haired gentleman
You made the present of a black gauze hat.
The gauze hat still sits on my head;
But you already are gone to the Nether Springs.
The thing is old, but still fit to wear;
The man is gone and will never be seen again.
Out on the hill the moon is shining to-night
And the trees on your tomb are swayed by the autumn wind.
THE BIG RUG
That so many of the poor should suffer from cold what can we do to
prevent?
To bring warmth to a single body is not much use.
I wish I had a big rug ten thousand feet long,
Which at one time could cover up every inch of the City.
AFTER GETTING DRUNK, BECOMING SOBER IN THE NIGHT
Our party scattered at yellow dusk and I came home to bed;
I woke at midnight and went for a walk, leaning heavily on a friend.
As I lay on my pillow my vinous complexion, soothed by sleep, grew
sober;
In front of the tower the ocean moon, accompanying the tide, had
risen.
The swallows, about to return to the beams, went back to roost
again;
The candle at my window, just going out, suddenly revived its light.
All the time till dawn came, still my thoughts were muddled;
And in my ears something sounded like the music of flutes and
strings.
REALIZING THE FUTILITY OF LIFE
Written on the wall of a priest's cell, _circa_ 828
Ever since the time when I was a lusty boy
Down till now when I am ill and old,
The things I have cared for have been different at different times,
But my being _busy_, _that_ has never changed.
_Then_ on the shore,--building sand-pagodas;
_Now_, at Court, covered with tinkling jade.
