# A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems/Seventeen Old Poems

SEVENTEEN OLD POEMS
The following seventeen poems are from a series known as the Nineteen Pieces of Old Poetry. Some have been attributed to Mei Shēng [first century B. C.], and one to Fu I [first century A. D.]. They are manifestly not all by the same hand nor of the same date. Internal evidence shows that No. 3 at least was written after the date of Mei Shēng's death. These poems had an enormous influence on all subsequent poetry, and many of the habitual clichés of Chinese verse are taken from them. I have omitted two because of their marked inferiority.
[1]
On and on, always on and on
Away from you, parted by a life-parting. Going from one another ten thousand "li," Each in a different corner of the World. The way between is difficult and long, Face to face how shall we meet again? The Tartar horse prefers the North wind, The bird from Yüeh nests on the Southern branch.
Since we parted the time is already long, Daily my clothes hang looser round my waist. Floating clouds obscure the white sun, The wandering one has quite forgotten home. Thinking of you has made me suddenly old, The months and years swiftly draw to their close. I'll put you out of my mind and forget for ever
And try with all my might to eat and thrive.
[2]
Green, green, The grass by the river-bank. Thick, thick,
The willow trees in the garden. Sad, sad, The lady in the tower. White, white, Sitting at the casement window.
Fair, fair,
Her red-powdered face. Small, small, She puts out her pale hand. Once she was a dancing-house girl, Now she is a wandering man's wife. The wandering man went, but did not return. It is hard alone to keep an empty bed.
[3]
Green, green, The cypress on the mound.
Firm, firm, The boulder in the stream. Man's life lived within this world,
Is like the sojourning of a hurried traveller.
A cup of wine together will make us glad, And a little friendship is no little matter.
Yoking my chariot I urge my stubborn horses. I wander about in the streets of Wan and Lo. In Lo Town how fine everything is!
The "Caps and Belts" go seeking each other out. The great boulevards are intersected by lanes, Wherein are the town-houses of Royal Dukes.
The two palaces stare at each other from afar,
The twin gates rise a hundred feet.
By prolonging the feast let us keep our hearts gay,
And leave no room for sadness to creep in.
[4]
Of this day's glorious feast and revel The pleasure and delight are difficult to describe. Plucking the lute they sent forth lingering sounds,
The new melodies in beauty reached the divine.
Skilful singers intoned the high words, Those who knew the tune heard the trueness of their singing. We sat there each with the same desire
And like thoughts by each unexpressed:
"Man in the world lodging for a single life-time
Passes suddenly like dust borne on the wind. Then let us hurry out with high steps
And be the first to reach the highways and fords:
Rather than stay at home wretched and poor
For long years plunged in sordid grief."
[5]
In the north-west there is a high house, Its top level with the floating clouds.
Embroidered curtains thinly screen its windows,
Its storied tower is built on three steps.
From above there comes a noise of playing and singing,
The tune sounding, oh! how sad! Who can it be, playing so sad a tune? Surely it must be Ch'i Liang's wife. The tranquil "D" follows the wind's rising, The middle lay lingers indecisive. To each note, two or three sobs, Her high will conquered by overwhelming grief.
She does not regret that she is left so sad, But minds that so few can understand her song. She wants to become those two wild geese
That with beating wings rise high aloft.
[6]
Crossing the river I pluck hibiscus-flowers:
In the orchid-swamps are many fragrant herbs.
I gather them, but who shall I send them to?
My love is living in lands far away. I turn and look towards my own country:
The long road stretches on for ever.
The same heart, yet a different dwelling:
Always fretting, till we are grown old!
[7]
A bright moon illumines the night-prospect: The house-cricket chirrups on the eastern wall.
The Handle of the Pole-star points to the Beginning of Winter. The host of stars is scattered over the sky.
The white dew wets the moor-grasses,—
With sudden swiftness the times and seasons change.
The autumn cicada sings among the trees,
The swallows, alas, whither are they gone?
Once I had a same-house friend, He took flight and rose high away.
He did not remember how once we went hand in hand, But left me like footsteps behind one in the dust.
In the South is the Winnowing-fan and the Pole-star in the North, And a Herd-boy whose ox has never borne the yoke. A friend who is not firm as a great rock Is of no profit and idly bears the name.
[8]
In the courtyard there grows a strange tree. Its green leaves ooze with a fragrant moisture.
Holding the branch I cut a flower from the tree,
Meaning to send it away to the person I love.
Its sweet smell fills my sleeves and lap.
The road is long, how shall I get it there?
Such a thing is not fine enough to send:
But it may remind him of the time that has past since he left.
[9]
Far away twinkles the Herd-boy star;
Brightly shines the Lady of the Han River.
Slender, slender she plies her white fingers. Click, click go the wheels of her spinning-loom. At the end of the day she has not finished her task; Her bitter tears fall like streaming rain. The Han River runs shallow and clear; Set between them, how short a space! But the river water will not let them pass, Gazing at each other but never able to speak.
[10]
Turning my chariot I yoke my horses and go. On and on down the long roads The autumn winds shake the hundred grasses.
On every side, how desolate and bare!
The things I meet are all new things,
Their strangeness hastens the coming of old age.
Prosperity and decay each have their season.
Success is bitter when it is slow in coming.
Man's life is not metal or stone, He cannot far prolong the days of his fate. Suddenly he follows in the way of things that change. Fame is the only treasure that endures.
[11]
The Eastern Castle stands tall and high;
Far and wide stretch the towers that guard it. The whirling wind uprises and shakes the earth;
The autumn grasses grow thick and green.
The four seasons alternate without pause, The year's end hurries swiftly on.
The Bird of the Morning Wind is stricken with sorrow
The frail cicada suffers and is hard pressed.
Free and clear, let us loosen the bonds of our hearts.
Why should we go on always restraining and binding?
In Yen and Chao are many fair ladies,
Beautiful people with faces like jade.
Their clothes are made all of silk gauze,
They stand at the door practising tranquil lays.
The echo of their singing, how sad it sounds!
By the pitch of the song one knows the stops have been tightened. To ease their minds they arrange their shawls and belts; Lowering their song, a little while they pause. "I should like to be those two flying swallows Who are carrying clay to nest in the eaves of your house."
[12]
I drive my chariot up to the Eastern Gate; From afar I see the graveyard north of the Wall. The white aspens how they murmur, murmur; Pines and cypresses flank the broad paths.
Beneath lie men who died long ago;
Black, black is the long night that holds them.
Deep down beneath the Yellow Springs,
Thousands of years they lie without waking.
In infinite succession light and darkness shift.
And years vanish like the morning dew.
Man's life is like a sojourning,
His longevity lacks the firmness of stone and metal.
For ever it has been that mourners in their turn were mourned,
Saint and Sage, — all alike are trapped.
Seeking by food to obtain Immortality
Many have been the dupe of strange drugs. Better far to drink good wine
And clothe our bodies in robes of satin and silk.
[13] Continuation of [12]
The dead are gone and with them we cannot converse.
The living are here and ought to have our love.
Leaving the city-gate I look ahead
And see before me only mounds and tombs. The old graves are ploughed up into fields, The pines and cypresses are hewn for timber. In the white aspens sad winds sing; Their long murmuring kills my heart with grief. I want to go home, to ride to my village gate. I want to go back, but there's no road back.
[14]
The years of a lifetime do not reach a hundred,
Yet they contain a thousand years' sorrow.
When days are short and the dull nights long,
Why not take a lamp and wander forth?
If you want to be happy you must do it now,
There is no waiting till an after-time.
The fool who's loath to spend the wealth he's got
Becomes the laughing-stock of after ages.
It is true that Master Wang became Immortal,
But how can we hope to share his lot?
[15]
Cold, cold the year draws to its end, The crickets and grasshoppers make a doleful chirping. The chill wind increases its violence. My wandering love has no coat to cover him. He gave his embroidered furs to the Lady of Lo, But from me his bedfellow he is quite estranged. Sleeping alone in the depth of the long night
In a dream I thought I saw the light of his face.
My dear one thought of our old joys together, He came in his chariot and gave me the front reins.
I wanted so to prolong our play and laughter,
To hold his hand and go back with him in his coach.
But, when he had come he would not stay long
Nor stop to go with me to the Inner Chamber. Truly without the falcon's wings to carry me
How can I rival the flying wind's swiftness?
I go and lean at the gate and think of my grief, My falling tears wet the double gates.
[16]
At the beginning of winter a cold spirit comes, The North Wind blows — chill, chill. My sorrows being many, I know the length of the nights, Raising my head I look at the stars in their places. On the fifteenth day the bright moon is full, On the twentieth day the "toad and hare" wane. A stranger came to me from a distant land
And brought me a single scroll with writing on it; At the top of the scroll was written "Do not forget," At the bottom was written "Goodbye for Ever."
I put the letter away in the folds of my dress, For three years the writing did not fade.
How with an undivided heart I loved you
I fear that you will never know or guess.
[17]
The bright moon, oh, how white it shines,
Shines down on the gauze curtains of my bed.
Racked by sorrow I toss and cannot sleep.
Picking up my clothes, I wander up and down.
My absent love says that he is happy,
But I would rather he said he was coming back.
Out in the courtyard I stand hesitating, alone.
To whom can I tell the sad thoughts I think?
Staring before me I enter my room again;
Falling tears wet my mantle and robe.
* ↑ The opposite of a parting by death.
* ↑ The popular, but erroneous, interpretation of these two lines is: "That I'm cast away and rejected I will not repine, But only hope with all my heart you're well."
* ↑ High officers.
* ↑ Who had no father, no husband, and no children.
* ↑ Name of a star. The Herd-boy, who is only figuratively speaking a herd-boy, is like the friend who is no real friend.
* ↑ I.e. (supposing he went away in the autumn), remind him that spring has come.
* ↑ The "toad and hare" correspond to our "man in the moon." The waning of the moon symbolises the waning of the lover's affection.