This southern scenery seems colorful indeed,
When you are here among the fallen flowers.
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Here at the world’s end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages
rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn’s waters. Art detests a too successfullife; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better havea word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into theMi-lo as an offering to him!
What! Is the mocking bird come?
The Spring is here today.All sounds, all words he knows.His feathers preen how he will,He is the same bird still.Where flowers most thickly screen,Difficult to be seen,His varying notes derideThe topmost boughs between.If out of time he chide.Lo! slander at your side!
Jade frost bites the maple trees
as river waves rise up to the skyand dark wind-clouds touch ground by a frontier fortress.The chrysanthemums have twice bloomed tears of other days,When I moor my lonely boat my heart longs for my old garden.The need for winter clothes hurries scissors and bamboo rulers.White Emperor City looms over the rushed sound of clothes beaten…
At the home of the Prince of Qi
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.
Evening colors linger on mountain paths.
At the cliff’s edge, frail clouds stayAll night. Among waves, a lone, shudderingMoon. As cranes trail off in flight, silent,Wolves snarl over their kill. I brood onOur wars, sleepless here and, to rightA relentless Heaven and Earth, powerless.
You, General Cao Ba,
now live as a peasant,a cold-door commoner.Your ancestor’s heroic agecarved out kingdoms of old,and its cultural brilliance, its style,still survive in your work.To learn calligraphyyou first studied Lady Wei;your only regret was not surpassingthe great Wang Xizhi .You said, ‘Caught up in my painting,I give no thought to old age;riches and rank are to meno…