I have poems; I can read
上海龙凤1314 / 2018年9月26日

Li Bai THOUGHTS OF OLD TIME FROM A NIGHT-MOORING UNDER MOUNT NIU-ZHU This night to the west of the river-brim There is not one cloud in the whole blue sky, As I watch from my deck the autumn moon, Vainly remembering old General Xie…. I have poems; I can read; He heard others, but not mine. …Tomorrow I shall hoist my sail, With fallen maple-leaves behind me. Du Fu ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT Far off in Fuzhou she is watching the moonlight, Watching it alone from the window of her chamber- For our boy and girl, poor little babes, Are too young to know where the Capital is. Her cloudy hair is sweet with mist, Her jade-white shoulder is cold in the moon. …When shall we lie again, with no more tears, Watching this bright light on our screen? Du Fu A SPRING VIEW Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure; And spring comes green again to trees and grasses Where petals have been shed like tears And lonely birds have sung their grief. …After the war-fires of three months, One message from home is worth a ton of gold. …I stroke my white hair. It has grown…

Is bringing to a wanderer’s eyes homesick tears
上海龙凤1314 / 2018年9月24日

Li Qi ON HEARING AN WANSHAN PLAY THE REED-PIPE Bamboo from the southern hills was used to make this pipe. And its music, that was introduced from Persia first of all, Has taken on new magic through later use in China. And now the Tartar from Liangzhou, blowing it for me, Drawing a sigh from whosoever hears it, Is bringing to a wanderer’s eyes homesick tears…. Many like to listen; but few understand. To and fro at will there’s a long wind flying, Dry mulberry-trees, old cypresses, trembling in its chill. There are nine baby phoenixes, outcrying one another; A dragon and a tiger spring up at the same moment; Then in a hundred waterfalls ten thousand songs of autumn Are suddenly changing to The Yuyang Lament; And when yellow clouds grow thin and the white sun darkens, They are changing still again to Spring in the Willow Trees. Like Imperial Garden flowers, brightening the eye with beauty, Are the high-hall candles we have lighted this cold night, And with every cup of wine goes another round of music. Meng Haoran RETURNING AT NIGHT TO LUMEN MOUNTAIN   A bell in the mountain-temple sounds the coming of night. I hear…