The Jade Mountain
The ferryman beaches his boat. It has grown too late to sail.And people on their way from Chêng cannot go home,And people from Lo-yang sigh with disappointment.. . . I have heard about the many friends around your wood- land dwelling.Yesterday you were dismissed. Are they your friends today?
A LUTE SONG
Our host, providing abundant wine to make the night mellow,Asks his guest from Yang-chou to play for us on the lute.Toward the moon that whitens the city-wall, black crows are flying,Frost is on ten thousand trees, and the wind blows through our clothes;But a copper stove has added its light to that of flowery candles,And the lute plays The Green Water, and then The Queen of Ch'u.Once it has begun to play, there is no other sound:A spell is on the banquet, while the stars grow thin. . .But three hundred miles from here, in Huai, official duties await him,And so it's farewell, and the road again, under cloudy mountains.
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