Alone with her beauty,She leans till dawn on her incense-pillow. Leaning alone in the close bamboos,I am playing my lute and humming a songToo softly for anyone to hear --Except my comrade, the bright moon. A MESSAGE FROM MY LODGE AT WANGCHUANTO PEI DI. When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude....Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunderAnd that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountainsBut, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his menAnd never would he wanton his cause away with wine....War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor....There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke. On Mirror Lake outspread for miles and miles,The lotus lilies in full blossom teem.In fifth moon Xi Shi gathers them with smiles,Watchers o'erwhelm the bank of Yuoye Stream.Her boat turns back without waiting moonriseTo yoyal house amid amorous sighs. The longevity of the language has much to do with the continuous poetic tradition. Though a shower bends the river-grass, a bird is singing,While ghosts of the Six Dynasties pass like a dreamAround the Forbidden City, under weeping willowsWhich loom still for three miles along the misty moat. Five-character-regular-verseSeng JiaoranNOT FINDING LU HONGXIAN AT HOME. It has grown too thinTo hold the hairpins any more. Friends and relatives This cloud, that has drifted all day through the sky,May, like a wanderer, never come back....Three nights now I have dreamed of you --As tender, intimate and real as though I were awake.And then, abruptly rising to go,You told me the perils of adventureBy river and lake-the storms, the wrecks,The fears that are borne on a little boat;And, here in my doorway, you rubbed your white headAs if there were something puzzling you....Our capital teems with officious people,While you are alone and helpless and poor.Who says that the heavenly net never fails?It has brought you ill fortune, old as you are....A thousand years' fame, ten thousand years' fame-What good, when you are dead and gone. Since my departure from the capital I had not felt sad; but that night, after 唐诗三百首(tánɡ shī sān bǎi shǒu) - 300 Tang Poems in Chinese Pinyin and English. Tang poetry refers to poetry written in or around the time of or in the characteristic style of China's Tang dynasty, 618 - 907, and follows a certain style, often considered as the Golden Age of Chinese poetry. My fifteen brother at Wujiang and my younger brothers and sisters at Fuli and Down the blue mountain in the evening,Moonlight was my homeward escort.Looking back, I saw my pathLie in levels of deep shadow....I was passing the farm-house of a friend,When his children called from a gate of thornAnd led me twining through jade bamboosWhere green vines caught and held my clothes.And I was glad of a chance to restAnd glad of a chance to drink with my friend....We sang to the tune of the wind in the pines;And we finished our songs as the stars went down,When, I being drunk and my friend more than happy,Between us we forgot the world. And I wrote this poem. A NIGHT-VIGIL IN THE LEFT COURT OF THE PALACE. Thinking only of their vow that they would crush the Tartars- -On the desert, clad in sable and silk, five thousand of them fell....But arisen from their crumbling bones on the banks of the river at the border,Dreams of them enter, like men alive, into rooms where their loves lie sleeping. Forlorn in the northeast among wind and dust,Drifting in the southwest between heaven and earth,Lingering for days and months in towers and terraces at the Three Gorges,Sharing clouds and mountains with the costumes of the Five Streams.The barbarian serving the ruler in the end was unreliable.The wandering poet lamenting the times had no chance to return.Yu Xin throughout his life was most miserable,In his waning years his poetry stirred the land of rivers and passes. Chung-ming Lung.Conversion to TEI.P3-conformant markup: University of Virginia Electronic Text Outside are insignia, shown in state;But here are sweet incense-clouds, quietly ours.Wind and rain, coming in from sea,Have cooled this pavilion above the lakeAnd driven the feverish heat awayFrom where my eminent guests are gathered....Ashamed though I am of my high positionWhile people lead unhappy lives,Let us reasonably banish careAnd just be friends, enjoying nature.Though we have to go without fish and meat,There are fruits and vegetables aplenty....We bow, we take our cups of wine,We give our attention to beautiful poems.When the mind is exalted, the body is lightenedAnd feels as if it could float in the wind....Suzhou is famed as a centre of letters;And all you writers, coming here,Prove that the name of a great landIs made by better things than wealth. Here, south of the Yangzi, grows a red orangetree.All winter long its leaves are green,Not because of a warmer soil,But because its' nature is used to the cold.Though it might serve your honourable guests,You leave it here, far below mountain and river.Circumstance governs destiny.Cause and effect are an infinite cycle.You plant your peach-trees and your plums,You forget the shade from this other tree. It's a long way home, a long way east.I am old and my sleeve is wet with tears.We meet on horseback. "The Emperor, on hearing this, nodded many times.And Yu retired and fasted and, in a narrow workroom,His great brush thick with ink as with drops of rain,Chose characters like those in the Canons of Yao and Xun,And a style as in the ancient poems Qingmiao and Shengmin.And soon the description was ready, on a sheet of paper.In the morning he laid it, with a bow, on the purple stairs.He memorialized the throne: "I, unworthy,Have dared to record this exploit, for a monument. A Comprehensive Study on the English Translation of Classical Tang Poetry [M]. I dismount from my horse and I offer you wine,And I ask you where you are going and why.And you answer: "I am discontentAnd would rest at the foot of the southern mountain.So give me leave and ask me no questions.White clouds pass there without end. In the faded old imperial palace,Peonies are red, but no one comes to see them....The ladies-in-waiting have grown white-hairedDebating the pomps of Emperor Xuanzong. --Near here, by the fishing-pool?Let's hold our boats together, let's seeIf we belong in the same town. About the electronic versionTang Shi San Bai Shou300 Tang PoemsHeng-t'ang-t'ui-Shih, 618-907, Creation of machine-readable version: Xuezhi Guo. You have left me behind, old friend, at the Yellow Crane Terrace,On your way to visit Yangzhou in the misty month of flowers;Your sail, a single shadow, becomes one with the blue sky,Till now I see only the river, on its way to heaven. As the holiday approaches, and grasses are bright after rain,And the causeway gleams with willows, and wheatfields wave in the wind,We are thinking of our kinsfolk, far away from us.O cuckoo, why do you follow us, why do you call us home? Your grasses up north are as blue as jade,Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches;And at last you think of returning home,Now when my heart is almost broken....O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you,Why part the silk curtains by my bed? We understand. With no other neighbour but the quiet night,Here I live in the same old cottage;And as raindrops brighten yellow leaves,The lamp illumines my white head....Out of the world these many years,I am ashamed to receive you here.But you cannot come too often,More than brother, lifelong friend. O Master, how did the world repayYour life of long solicitude? TO MY FRIEND AT THE CAPITAL SECRETARY PEI. I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers,Borne by the channel of a green stream,Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountainsOn a journey of less than thirty miles....Rapids hum over heaped rocks;But where light grows dim in the thick pines,The surface of an inlet sways with nut-hornsAnd weeds are lush along the banks....Down in my heart I have always been as pureAs this limpid water is....Oh, to remain on a broad flat rockAnd to cast a fishing-line forever! An example of Tang poetry. A wanderer hears drums portending battle.By the first call of autumn from a wildgoose at the border,He knows that the dews tonight will be frost....How much brighter the moonlight is at home!O my brothers, lost and scattered,What is life to me without you?Yet if missives in time of peace go wrong --What can I hope for during war? Phoenixes that played here once, so that the place was named for them,Have abandoned it now to this desolate river;The paths of Wu Palace are crooked with weeds;The garments of Qin are ancient dust....Like this green horizon halving the Three Peaks,Like this Island of White Egrets dividing the river,A cloud has arisen between the Light of Heaven and me,To hide his city from my melancholy heart. The Three Hundred Tang Poems is an anthology of poems from the Chinese Tang … Press. (2007). For years, to guard the Jade Pass and the River of Gold,With our hands on our horse-whips and our swordhilts,We have watched the green graves change to snowAnd the Yellow Stream ring the Black Mountain forever. The sun shines on the door of the room, the curtain is not yet open. "my silkworms are hungry, I cannot stay.Tarry not with your five-horse cab, I pray.". Though you think to return to this maze of mountains,Oh, let them brim your heart with wonder!....Remember the fisherman from WulingWho had only a day in the Peach-Blossom Country. We were both so changedThat hearing first your surname, I thought you a stranger --Then hearing your given name, I remembered your young face....All that has happened with the tidesWe have told and told till the evening bell....Tomorrow you journey to Youzhou,Leaving autumn between us, peak after peak. THOUGHTS OF OLD TIME FROM A NIGHT-MOORINGUNDER MOUNT NIU-ZHU. (11 poems). Tang Musical Shi Poetry: Flourishing and Decline Conventionally, the Tang is known for shi poetry, especially tonally regulated, “recent-style” shi poetry (jinti shi). There are sobs when death is the cause of parting;But life has its partings again and again....From the poisonous damps of the southern riverYou had sent me not one sign from your exile --Till you came to me last night in a dream,Because I am always thinking of you.I wondered if it were really you,Venturing so long a journey.You came to me through the green of a forest,You disappeared by a shadowy fortress....Yet out of the midmost mesh of your snare,How could you lift your wings and use them?...I woke, and the low moon's glimmer on a rafterSeemed to be your face, still floating in the air....There were waters to cross, they were wild and tossing;If you fell, there were dragons and rivermonsters. My students gave me a beautiful scroll to hang on my wall. A translation of the poem 登鸛雀樓, “Climbing White Stork Tower”, by the Tang dynasty poet 王之渙 (Wang Zhihuan). Sun, Dayu. Against the City of the Yellow DragonOur troops were sent long years ago,And girls here watch the same melancholy moonThat lights our Chinese warriors --And young wives dream a dream of spring,That last night their heroic husbands,In a great attack, with flags and drums,Captured the City of the Yellow Dragon. In the slant of the sun on the country-side,Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane;And a rugged old man in a thatch doorLeans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy.There are whirring pheasants? You who have come from my old country,Tell me what has happened there ! Each guitar piece was inspired by a specific poem from the Tang Dynasty. Sun, Dayu. Only to wanderers can comeEver new the shock of beauty,Of white cloud and red cloud dawning from the sea,Of spring in the wild-plum and river-willow....I watch a yellow oriole dart in the warm air,And a green water- plant reflected by the sun.Suddenly an old song fillsMy heart with home, my eyes with tears. Translations of poems 190, 191, 193 are from "Perspectives on the Tang" edited by Arthur Wright and Denis Twitchett, published by Yale University Press, 1973. Living under a thatch roof, never wearing fragrant silk,She longs to arrange a marriage, but how could she dare?Who would know her simple face the loveliest of them allWhen we choose for worldliness, not for worth?Her fingers embroider beyond compare,But she cannot vie with painted brows;And year after year she has sewn gold threadOn bridal robes for other girls. My blue sleeve was wet. I had so long been troubled by official hat and robeThat I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland.I am a neighbour now of planters and reapers.I am a guest of the mountains and woods.I plough in the morning, turning dewy grasses,And at evening tie my fisher-boat, breaking the quiet stream.Back and forth I go, scarcely meeting anyone,And sing a long poem and gaze at the blue sky. As you might be more familiar with traditional English language poems, which are mainly confined to rhyme, meter, and genre type, Chinese poems will be surprisingly different to you. They say that wildgeese, flying southward,Here turn back, this very month....Shall my own southward journeyEver be retraced, I wonder?...The river is pausing at ebb-tide,And the woods are thick with clinging mist --But tomorrow morning, over the mountain,Dawn will be white with the plum-trees of home. Finch-notes and swallow-notes tell the new year....But so far are the Town of the Horse and the Dragon MoundFrom this our house, from these walls and Han Gardens,That the moon takes my heart to the Tartar sky.I have woven in the frame endless words of my grieving....Yet this petal-bough is smiling now on my lonely sleep.Oh, ask General Dou when his flags will come homeAnd his triumph be carved on the rock of Yanran mountain! I had always heard of Lake Dongting --And now at last I have climbed to this tower.With Wu country to the east of me and Chu to the south,I can see heaven and earth endlessly floating....But no word has reached me from kin or friends.I am old and sick and alone with my boat.North of this wall there are wars and mountains --And here by the rail how can I help crying? South go the wildgesse, for leaves are now falling,And the water is cold with a wind from the north.I remember my home; but the Xiang River's curvesAre walled by the clouds of this southern country.I go forward. This project was motivated by the Grand Music of Tang, which is a suite of 24 classical-guitar pieces composed by Ssu-Yu Huang. The poetic types of English poetry mainly include couplet, tercet, quatrain, quintet, rhyme royal, ottava rima, Spenserian stanza and sonnet. Though our envoy, Su Wu, is gone, body and soul,This temple survives, these trees endure....Wildgeese through the clouds are still calling to the moon thereAnd hill-sheep unshepherded graze along the border....Returning, he found his country changedSince with youthful cap and sword he had left it.His bitter adventures had won him no title....Autumn-waves endlessly sob in the river. I am far from the clouds of Sung Mountain, a long way from trees in Qin;And I send to you a message carried by two carp:-- Absent this autumn from the Prince's garden,There's a poet at Maoling sick in the rain. When I questioned your pupil, under a pine-tree,"My teacher," he answered, " went for herbs,But toward which corner of the mountain,How can I tell, through all these clouds ?". AFTER MISSING THE RECLUSEON THE WESTERN MOUNTAIN. Play for us again.And I will write a long song concerning a guitar. This constellation, with its seven high stars,Is Ge Shu lifting his sword in the night:And no more barbarians, nor their horses, nor cattle,Dare ford the river boundary. The sand below the border-mountain lies like snow,And the moon like frost beyond the city-wall,And someone somewhere, playing a flute,Has made the soldiers homesick all night long. dagger. Some of the translations are to an extent mixed with drawbacks. From the temple, deep in its tender bamboos,Comes the low sound of an evening bell,While the hat of a pilgrim carries the sunsetFarther and farther down the green mountain. Waley, A. What are you thinking as we part from one another,Pulling in our horses for the stirrup-cups?Do these tear-streaks mean Wu Valley monkeys all weeping,Or wildgeese returning with news from Heng Mountain?....On the river between green maples an autumn sail grows dim,There are only a few old trees by the wall of the White God City....But the year is bound to freshen us with a dew of heavenly favour --Take heart, we shall soon be together again! You ask me when I am coming. Since Wang Jun brought his towering ships down from Yizhou,The royal ghost has pined in the city of Nanjing.Ten thousand feet of iron chain were sunk here to the bottom --And then came the flag of surrender on the Wall of Stone....Cycles of change have moved into the past,While still this mountain dignity has commanded the cold river;And now comes the day of the Chinese world united,And the old forts fill with ruin and with autumn reeds. Friend, I have watched you down the mountainTill now in the dark I close my thatch door....Grasses return again green in the spring,But O my Prince of Friends, do you? With a blue line of mountains north of the wall,And east of the city a white curve of water,Here you must leave me and drift awayLike a loosened water-plant hundreds of miles....I shall think of you in a floating cloud;So in the sunset think of me....We wave our hands to say good-bye,And my horse is neighing again and again. And ready for dawnI see arise, far in the east the cold bright sun. The woods are black and a wind assails the grasses,Yet the general tries night archery --And next morning he finds his white-plumed arrowPointed deep in the hard rock. The monk from Shu with his green silk lute-case,Walking west down Omei Mountain,Has brought me by one touch of the stringsThe breath of pines in a thousand valleys.I hear him in the cleansing brook,I hear him in the icy bells;And I feel no change though the mountain darkenAnd cloudy autumn heaps the sky. When the moonlight, reaching a tree by the gate,Shows her a quiet bird on its nest,She removes her jade hairpins and sits in the shadowAnd puts out a flame where a moth was flying. Five-character-regular-verseWei ZhuangA NIGHT THOUGHT ON TERRACE TOWER. Butterflies in Love with Flowers《蝶恋花》by Liu Yong (Northern Song Dynasty) 伫倚危楼风 … When the Emperor came back from his ride they had murdered Lady Yang --That passion unforgettable through all the suns and moonsThey had led him to forsake her by reminding himOf an emperor slain with his lady once, in a well at Jingyang Palace. ", "Yes, I live here, by the river;I have sailed on it many and many a time.Both of us born in Changgan, you and I!Why haven't we always known each other?". Finches flash yellow through the Imperial GroveOf the Forbidden City, pale with spring dawn;Flowers muffle a bell in the Palace of BlissAnd rain has deepened the Dragon Lake willows;But spring is no help to a man bewildered,Who would be like a cloud upholding the Light of Heaven,Yet whose poems, ten years refused, are shamingThese white hairs held by the petalled pin. INSCRIBED IN THE TEMPLE OF THE WANDERING GENIE, I face, high over this enchanted lodge, the Court of the Five Cities of Heaven,And I see a countryside blue and still, after the long rain.The distant peaks and trees of Qin merge into twilight,And Had Palace washing-stones make their autumnal echoes.Thin pine-shadows brush the outdoor pulpit,And grasses blow their fragrance into my little cave....Who need be craving a world beyond this one?Here, among men, are the Purple Hills.

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