Her tears are spent, but no dreams come
|
118
|
Here, beside a clear deep lake
|
7
|
Here in the Eighth-month the waters of the lake
|
109
|
Here, where you spent your three years' exile
|
93
|
High above, from a jade chamber, songs float half-way to heaven
|
45
|
High beyond the thick wall a tower shines with sunset
|
197
|
His golden arrow is tipped with hawk's feathers
|
103
|
His Palace of Purple Spring has been taken by mist and cloud
|
79
|
How beautiful she looks, opening the pearly casement
|
53
|
How gladly I would seek a mountain
|
111
|
{{{text}}}
|
I am endlessly yearning
|
69
|
I am far from the clouds of Sung Mountain, a long way from trees in Ch'in
|
74
|
I am lying in a white-lined coat while the spring approaches
|
82
|
I am only an old woodsman, whispering a sob
|
171
|
I am sad. My thoughts are in Yo-chou
|
165
|
I am the madman of the Ch'u country
|
63
|
I awake light-hearted this morning of spring
|
108
|
I clean my teeth in water drawn from a cold well
|
98
|
I dismount from my horse and I offer you wine
|
198
|
I face, high over this enchanted lodge, the Court of the Five Cities of Heaven
|
27
|
I go in a dream to the house of Hsieh
|
13
|
I had always heard of Lake Tung-t'ing
|
152
|
I had so long been troubled by official hat and robe
|
98
|
I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers
|
199
|
I left home young, I return old
|
36
|
I met you often when you were visiting princes
|
147
|
I petition no more at the north palace-gate
|
110
|
I ponder on the poem of The Precious Dagger
|
76
|
I still remember those days of peace
|
217
|
I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Hsün-yang River
|
125
|
I wonder why my inlaid harp has fifty strings
|
78
|
In a happy reign there should be no hermits
|
198
|
In a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering
|
155
|
In dangerous times we two came south
|
133
|
In gala robes she comes down from her chamber
|
100
|
In my bed among the woods, grieving that spring must end
|
110
|
In the faded old imperial palace
|
215
|
In the Fourth-month the south wind blows plains of yellow barley
|
47
|
In the pure morning, near the old temple
|
7
|
In the slant of the sun on the country-side
|
200
|
In twelve chambers the ladies, decked for the day
|
40
|