[93] A
plaintive
love-song, to which Po Chu-i had himself written words.
Waley - 170 Chinese Poems
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.
A thousand crags, a hundred hundred valleys--
In my dream-journey none were unexplored
And all the while my feet never grew tired
And my step was as strong as in my young days.
Can it be that when the mind travels backward
The body also returns to its old state?
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.
A thousand crags, a hundred hundred valleys--
In my dream-journey none were unexplored
And all the while my feet never grew tired
And my step was as strong as in my young days.
Can it be that when the mind travels backward
The body also returns to its old state?
