BY LI T'AI-PO
I climb the hills of Chiu I—Oh-h-h-h-h! I look at the clear streams a long way off.I see distinctly the three branches of the Hsiang River, I hear the sound of its swift current.The water flows coldly; it is on its way to the lake.The horizontal Autumn clouds hide the sky.I go by the "Bird's Path." I calculate the distance to my old home. Oh-h-h-h-h!I do not know how many thousandliit is from Ching to Wu.It is the hour of the Western brightness, of the half-round sun.The dazzle on the island is about to disappear;The smooth lake is brilliantly white—from the moon?Over the lake, the moon is rising.I think of the moment of meeting—the long stretch of time before it.I think of misty Yen and gaze at Yüeh.The lotus-flowers have fallen—Oh-h-h-h-h! The river is the colour of Autumn.The wind passes—passes. The night is endless—endless.I would go to the end of the Dark Sea. How eagerly I desire this!I think much of fishing for a leviathan from the Island of the Cold Sea.There is no rod long enough to raise it.I yield to the great waves, and my sorrow is increased.I will return. I will go home. Oh-h-h-h-h!Even for a little time, one cannot rely upon the World.I long to pick the immortal herbs on the hill of P'êng.
I climb the hills of Chiu I—Oh-h-h-h-h! I look at the clear streams a long way off.I see distinctly the three branches of the Hsiang River, I hear the sound of its swift current.The water flows coldly; it is on its way to the lake.The horizontal Autumn clouds hide the sky.I go by the "Bird's Path." I calculate the distance to my old home. Oh-h-h-h-h!I do not know how many thousandliit is from Ching to Wu.It is the hour of the Western brightness, of the half-round sun.The dazzle on the island is about to disappear;The smooth lake is brilliantly white—from the moon?Over the lake, the moon is rising.I think of the moment of meeting—the long stretch of time before it.I think of misty Yen and gaze at Yüeh.The lotus-flowers have fallen—Oh-h-h-h-h! The river is the colour of Autumn.The wind passes—passes. The night is endless—endless.I would go to the end of the Dark Sea. How eagerly I desire this!I think much of fishing for a leviathan from the Island of the Cold Sea.There is no rod long enough to raise it.I yield to the great waves, and my sorrow is increased.I will return. I will go home. Oh-h-h-h-h!Even for a little time, one cannot rely upon the World.I long to pick the immortal herbs on the hill of P'êng.
I climb the hills of Chiu I—Oh-h-h-h-h! I look at the clear streams a long way off.I see distinctly the three branches of the Hsiang River, I hear the sound of its swift current.The water flows coldly; it is on its way to the lake.The horizontal Autumn clouds hide the sky.I go by the "Bird's Path." I calculate the distance to my old home. Oh-h-h-h-h!I do not know how many thousandliit is from Ching to Wu.It is the hour of the Western brightness, of the half-round sun.The dazzle on the island is about to disappear;The smooth lake is brilliantly white—from the moon?Over the lake, the moon is rising.I think of the moment of meeting—the long stretch of time before it.I think of misty Yen and gaze at Yüeh.The lotus-flowers have fallen—Oh-h-h-h-h! The river is the colour of Autumn.The wind passes—passes. The night is endless—endless.I would go to the end of the Dark Sea. How eagerly I desire this!I think much of fishing for a leviathan from the Island of the Cold Sea.There is no rod long enough to raise it.I yield to the great waves, and my sorrow is increased.I will return. I will go home. Oh-h-h-h-h!Even for a little time, one cannot rely upon the World.I long to pick the immortal herbs on the hill of P'êng.
I climb the hills of Chiu I—Oh-h-h-h-h! I look at the clear streams a long way off.
I see distinctly the three branches of the Hsiang River, I hear the sound of its swift current.
The water flows coldly; it is on its way to the lake.
The horizontal Autumn clouds hide the sky.
I go by the "Bird's Path." I calculate the distance to my old home. Oh-h-h-h-h!
I do not know how many thousandliit is from Ching to Wu.
It is the hour of the Western brightness, of the half-round sun.
The dazzle on the island is about to disappear;
The smooth lake is brilliantly white—from the moon?
Over the lake, the moon is rising.
I think of the moment of meeting—the long stretch of time before it.
I think of misty Yen and gaze at Yüeh.
The lotus-flowers have fallen—Oh-h-h-h-h! The river is the colour of Autumn.
The wind passes—passes. The night is endless—endless.
I would go to the end of the Dark Sea. How eagerly I desire this!
I think much of fishing for a leviathan from the Island of the Cold Sea.
There is no rod long enough to raise it.
I yield to the great waves, and my sorrow is increased.
I will return. I will go home. Oh-h-h-h-h!
Even for a little time, one cannot rely upon the World.
I long to pick the immortal herbs on the hill of P'êng.