"Longing for chrysanthemums," by the "Princess of Heng Wu."
With anguish sore I face the western breeze, and wrapt in grief, I
pine for you!
What time the smart weed russet turns, and the reeds white, my heart
is rent in two.
When in autumn the hedges thin, and gardens waste, all trace of you is
gone.
When the moon waxeth cold, and the dew pure, my dreams then know
something of you.
With constant yearnings my heart follows you as far as wild geese
homeward fly.
Lonesome I sit and lend an ear, till a late hour to the sound of the
block!
For you, ye yellow flowers, I've grown haggard and worn, but who doth
pity me,
And breathe one word of cheer that in the ninth moon I will soon meet
you again?
"Search for chrysanthemums," by the "Gentleman of I Hung:"
When I have naught to do, I'll seize the first fine day to try and
stroll about.
Neither wine-cups nor cups of medicine will then deter me from my
wish.
Who plants the flowers in all those spots, facing the dew and under
the moon's rays?
Outside the rails they grow and by the hedge; but in autumn where do
they go?
With sandals waxed I come from distant shores; my feelings all
exuberant;
But as on this cold day I can't exhaust my song, my spirits get
depressed.
The yellow flowers, if they but knew how comfort to a poet to afford,
Would not let me this early morn trudge out in vain with my cash-laden
staff.
"Planting chrysanthemums," by the Gentleman of "I Hung:"
When autumn breaks, I take my hoe, and moving them myself out of the
park,
I plant them everywhere near the hedges and in the foreground of the
halls.
Last night, when least expected, they got a good shower, which made
them all revive.
This morn my spirits still rise high, as the buds burst in bloom
bedecked with frost.
Now that it's cool, a thousand stanzas on the autumn scenery I sing.
In ecstasies from drink, I toast their blossom in a cup of cold, and
fragrant wine.
With spring water. I sprinkle them, cover the roots with mould and
well tend them,
So that they may, like the path near the well, be free of every grain
of dirt.
"Facing the chrysanthemums," by the "Old friend of the Hall reclining on the russet clouds."
From other gardens I transplant them, and I treasure them like gold.
One cluster bears light-coloured bloom; another bears dark shades.
I sit with head uncovered by the sparse-leaved artemesia hedge,
And in their pure and cool fragrance, clasping my knees, I hum my
lays.
In the whole world, methinks, none see the light as peerless as these
flowers.
From all I see you have no other friend more intimate than me.
Such autumn splendour, I must not misuse, as steadily it fleets.
My gaze I fix on you as I am fain each moment to enjoy!
"Putting chrysanthemums in vases," by the "Old Friend of the hall reclining on the russet clouds."
The lute I thrum, and quaff my wine, joyful at heart that ye are meet
to be my mates.
The various tables, on which ye are laid, adorn with beauteous grace
this quiet nook.
The fragrant dew, next to the spot I sit, is far apart from that by
the three paths.
I fling my book aside and turn my gaze upon a twig full of your autumn
(bloom).
What time the frost is pure, a new dream steals o'er me, as by the
paper screen I rest.
When cold holdeth the park, and the sun's rays do slant, I long and
yearn for you, old friends.
I too differ from others in this world, for my own tastes resemble
those of yours.
The vernal winds do not hinder the peach tree and the pear from
bursting forth in bloom.