Entering
the Hall, she meets the new wife:
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Waley - 170 Chinese Poems
Do you not see that sparrow on the fence?
Seeing the hawk it casts itself into the snare.
The fowler to catch the sparrow is delighted:
The Young Man to see the sparrow is grieved.
He takes his sword and cuts through the netting:
The yellow sparrow flies away, away.
Away, away, up to the blue sky
And down again to thank the Young Man.
LO-YANG
By the Emperor Ch'ien W? n-ti (sixth century)
A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang:
The big streets are full of spring light.
The lads go driving out with harps in their hands:
The mulberry girls go out to the fields with their baskets.
Golden whips glint at the horses' flanks.
Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs.
Racing dawn, the carriages come home,--
And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.
WINTER NIGHT
My bed is so empty that I keep on waking up:
As the cold increases, the night-wind begins to blow.
It rustles the curtains, making a noise like the sea:
Oh that those were waves which could carry me back to you!
THE REJECTED WIFE
By Yuan-ti (508-554). See page 15.
Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:
She presses her hands together and hesitates.
Agitates moon-like fan--sheds pearl-like tears--
Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:
That her present pain will never come to an end.
PEOPLE HIDE THEIR LOVE
By Wu-ti
Who says
That it's by my desire,
This separation, this living so far from you?
My dress still smells of the lavender you gave:
My hand still holds the letter that you sent.
Round my waist I wear a double sash:
I dream that it binds us both with a same-heart knot.
Did not you know that people hide their love,
Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?
THE FERRY
By the Emperor Ch'ien W? n-ti, of the Liang dynasty, who reigned
during the year A. D. 500.
Of marsh-mallows my boat is made,
The ropes are lily-roots.
The pole-star is athwart the sky:
The moon sinks low.
It's at the ferry I'm plucking lilies.
But it might be the Yellow River--
So afraid you seem of the wind and waves,
So long you tarry at the crossing. [40]
[40] A lady is waiting for her lover at the ferry which crosses a small
stream.
