I thought of Peach Blossom Spring, so remote,1 44
increasing
sighs over the blunders of my life.
Du Fu - 5
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Unauthenticated Download Date | 10/1/17 7:36 AM Journey North 337 Wherever the rain and dew brings moisture fruits form, the sweet and the bitter alike.
I thought of Peach Blossom Spring, so remote,1 44 increasing sighs over the blunders of my life. From the rises I gazed to Fu? s Altar,2 which emerged and sank away as I crossed valley and cliff. I had already gone on to the shores of a stream, 48 and my servant was still in the tips of the trees. 3 Owls screeched in the brown mulberry trees, ground squirrels folded hands by their scattered dens. In the depths of night I passed through a battlefield, 52 where the cold moon shone on white bones. An army of a million at Tong Pass? back then they scattered so swiftly! 4 In consequence half the folk of Qin 56 were destroyed and made into non-human things. 5 What? s more I fell into the dust of the Hu, coming home, my hair is all streaked with gray. A year has passed, and I reach my thatched cottage,6 60 wife and children? s clothes patched in a hundred places. Stirred to weeping, the sound of pines replies, and mournful streams join our secret sobs. The son whom I always have doted on, 64 his complexion is whiter than snow. 1 *Peach Blossom Spring.
I thought of Peach Blossom Spring, so remote,1 44 increasing sighs over the blunders of my life. From the rises I gazed to Fu? s Altar,2 which emerged and sank away as I crossed valley and cliff. I had already gone on to the shores of a stream, 48 and my servant was still in the tips of the trees. 3 Owls screeched in the brown mulberry trees, ground squirrels folded hands by their scattered dens. In the depths of night I passed through a battlefield, 52 where the cold moon shone on white bones. An army of a million at Tong Pass? back then they scattered so swiftly! 4 In consequence half the folk of Qin 56 were destroyed and made into non-human things. 5 What? s more I fell into the dust of the Hu, coming home, my hair is all streaked with gray. A year has passed, and I reach my thatched cottage,6 60 wife and children? s clothes patched in a hundred places. Stirred to weeping, the sound of pines replies, and mournful streams join our secret sobs. The son whom I always have doted on, 64 his complexion is whiter than snow. 1 *Peach Blossom Spring.
