Drifting
We cannot keep the gold of yesterday;
To-day's dun clouds we cannot roll away.
Now the long, wailing flight of geese brings autumn in its train,
So to the view-tower cup in hand to fill and drink again,
And dream of the greatest singers of the past,
Their fadeless lines of fire and beauty cast.
I too have felt the wild-bird thrill of song behind the bars,
But these have brushed the world aside and walked amid the stars.
In vain we cleave the torrent's thread with steel,
In vain we drink to drown the grief we feel;
When man's desire with fate doth war this, this avails alone —
To hoist the sail and let the gale and the waters bear us on.
Wang Ch`ang-ling
Circa A.D. 750
This poet came from the district of Chiang-ning to the capital, where he obtained his doctor's degree and distinguished himself as a man of letters. For some time he filled a minor post, but was eventually disgraced and exiled to the province of Hunan. When the rebellion of An Lu-shan broke out, he returned to his native place, where he was cruelly murdered by the censor Lu Ch`in-hsiao. (See Hervey Saint-Denys, `Poe/sies des Thang', p. 224; Giles, `Biog. Dict.' p. 8087.)
The Song of the Nenuphars
Leaves of the Nenuphars and silken skirts the same pale green,
On flower and laughing face alike the same rose-tints are seen;
Like some blurred tapestry they blend within the lake displayed:
You cannot part the leaves from silk, the lily from the maid.
Only when sudden voices swell
Do maidens of their presence tell.
Here long ago the girls of Sou, the darlings of the King,
Dabbled their shining skirts with dew from the gracious blooms of Spring.
When to the lake's sun-dimpled marge the bright procession wends,
The languid lilies raise their heads as though to greet their friends;
When down the river-banks they roam,
The white moon-lady leads them home.