myriad doors of the palace, and the moon’s light increases as she moves into
the ninefold sky. Unable to sleep, I seem to hear the sound of the bronze-clad
doors opening for the audience, or imagine the sound of bridle-bells bourne
upon the wind. Having a sealed memorial to submit at tomorrow’s levee, I make
frequent inquiries about the progress of the night.
I spend the night alone in the river city,using up all of the candles.Sad bugle notes sound through the long nightas I talk to myself;glorious moon hanging in mid-skybut who looks?The endless dust-storm of troublescuts off news and letters;the frontier passes are perilous,travel nearly impossible.I have already suffered ten years,ten years of turmoil and hardship;now…
All my sons and grandsons died in battle;it’s no use to keep my body alone in one piece.Throwing away my walking stick, I walk out the door.The other soldiers are saddened, pitying me.I’m lucky to still have all my teethbut I regret the marrow has dried in my bones.Wearing a soldier’s helmet and armor,I salute…
Garden. Heavy dew beads and trickles.Stars suddenly there, sparse, next aren’t.Fireflies in dark flight flash. WakingWaterbirds begin calling, one to another.All things caught between shield and sword,All grief empty, the clear night passes.
and in the hall of Cui Jiu,I have heard you sing.Truly these southlandsboast unrivaled scenery-to see you once againwhen the flowers are falling.
It scatters restless gold across the waves.On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamonSpreading in my old garden . . . All light,All ten thousand miles at once in its light!
Sorrowing over the times, the flowers are weeping.The birds startled my heart in fear of departing.The beacon fires were burning for three months,A letter from home was worth ten thousand pieces of gold.I scratch the scant hairs on my white head,And vainly attempt to secure them with a hairpin.
