No More Learning

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.
On the banks of the Ch'ang my aged body three times[94] has passed
through sickness;
At Hsien-yang[95] to the grasses on your grave eight times has
autumn come.
You lie buried beneath the springs and your bones are mingled with
the clay.
I--lodging in the world of men; my hair white as snow.
A-wei and Han-lang[96] both followed in their turn;
Among the shadows of the Terrace of Night did you know them or not?

[94] Since you died.

[95] Near Ch'ang-an, modern Si-ngan-fu.

[96] Affectionate names of Li Chien and Ts'ui Hsuan-liang.


A DREAM OF MOUNTAINEERING

Written when he was over seventy

At night, in my dream, I stoutly climbed a mountain.
Going out alone with my staff of holly-wood.