No More Learning

The Imperial Patent on the Temple doors is written in letters of
gold;
For nuns' quarters and monks' cells ample space is allowed.
For green moss and bright moonlight--plenty of room provided;
In a hovel opposite is a sick man who has hardly room to lie down.
I remember once when at P'ing-yang they were building a great man's
house
How it swallowed up the housing space of thousands of ordinary men.
The Immortals[70] are leaving us, two by two, and their houses are
turned into Temples;
I begin to fear that the whole world will become a vast convent.

[69] 785-805.

[70] Hsien Tsung's brothers?


THE CHARCOAL-SELLER

(A SATIRE AGAINST "KOMMANDATUR")

An old charcoal-seller
Cutting wood and burning charcoal in the forests of the Southern
Mountain.
His face, stained with dust and ashes, has turned to the colour of
smoke.
The hair on his temples is streaked with gray: his ten fingers are
black.
The money he gets by selling charcoal, how far does it go?
It is just enough to clothe his limbs and put food in his mouth.
Although, alas, the coat on his back is a coat without lining.
He hopes for the coming of cold weather, to send up the price of
coal!
Last night, outside the city,--a whole foot of snow;
At dawn he drives the charcoal wagon along the frozen ruts.
Oxen,--weary; man,--hungry: the sun, already high;
Outside the Gate, to the south of the Market, at last they stop in
the mud.
Suddenly, a pair of prancing horsemen. Who can it be coming?
A public official in a yellow coat and a boy in a white shirt.
In their hands they hold a written warrant: on their tongues--the
words of an order;
They turn back the wagon and curse the oxen, leading them off to the
north.
A whole wagon of charcoal,
More than a thousand pieces!
If officials choose to take it away, the woodman may not complain.
Half a piece of red silk and a single yard of damask,
The Courtiers have tied to the oxen's collar, as the price
of a wagon of coal!


THE POLITICIAN

I was going to the City to sell the herbs I had plucked;
On the way I rested by some trees at the Blue Gate.
Along the road there came a horseman riding;
Whose face was pale with a strange look of dread.
Friends and relations, waiting to say good-bye,
Pressed at his side, but he did not dare to pause.
I, in wonder, asked the people about me
Who he was and what had happened to him.
They told me this was a Privy Councillor
Whose grave duties were like the pivot of State.
His food allowance was ten thousand cash;
Three times a day the Emperor came to his house.
Yesterday he was called to a meeting of Heroes:
To-day he is banished to the country of Yai-chou.
So always, the Counsellors of Kings;
Favour and ruin changed between dawn and dusk!
Green, green,--the grass of the Eastern Suburb;
And amid the grass, a road that leads to the hills.