《伊川击壤集》Vol. 2

When a matter arises, do not shrink from the work it demands.

Those who know only the savory taste of fish and meat—who among them can recognize truly fine jade when it is brought up? I am ashamed that I have not been able to bring my talents fully to bear, and often regret that people today speak in such lofty terms.

Two Poems in Reply to Chancellor Xie Fu’s Invitation to Enter Service

Many thanks for inviting me and for not forgetting me. I had thought you believed I still harbored ambitions that I might put into practice. If I entered service, how could I avoid the constraints of official duties? Since I have already retired to a life of leisure, why give me an official title in name alone?

(The messenger said that if I did not wish to serve as an official, they could arrange a nominal post of little responsibility for me.)

I would rather follow Chao Fu and Xu You and refuse to serve an emperor; I am content to spend my final years in the age of Tang Yao and Yu Shun, when every household lived in peace. The court is filled with worthy and upright people. How could a man as often ill as I am affect the fortunes of the state?

I hope to fulfill my plan of living in retirement for the rest of my life, yet I do not know what Heaven intends. Even if I were repeatedly granted high office and honored status, how could that compare with the broad beauty of the mountains and waters before me?

When I encounter lovely scenery, I often feel moved to compose a poem. I am content to spend my final years in the age of Tang Yao and Yu Shun, when every household lived in peace. The court is filled with worthy and upright people. How could a man as often ill as I am affect the fortunes of the state?

I hope to fulfill my plan of living in retirement for the rest of my life, yet I do not know what Heaven intends. Even if I were repeatedly granted high office and honored status, how could that compare with the broad beauty of the mountains and waters before me?

When I encounter lovely scenery, I often feel moved to compose a poem, but my high ambitions have already been worn away. The court’s worthy men have their own pleasures amid rivers and lakes. Why take the trouble to lay a net and draw people into official life?

In Reply to Someone on the Teachings of Social Order

Since Heaven and Earth first came into being, the teachings that shape the world have been continually put into practice. Those who stand out among humankind are called true Confucians. There is a proper way to cultivate oneself; those who understand its principles are called the awakened ones. What age has lacked people who grasp profound truths?

The principles found in the classics and histories are as clear as a painting in bright colors; the path shown by the sages shines like the sun and moon. Though I am a shallow scholar who has long steeped himself in these texts, I would not therefore dare look down on the talented people of the world.

Seeing Off Academician Wang Bochu as He Takes Up a Strategic Post in Beijing

A great man’s resolve can be judged only when his life is over. He has plans of such scope that they can determine the weight and outcome of events. As you set out on your distant journey, how could I not feel the pull of our old friendship? And once you reach your post, how could I bear to forget our bond at once?

In our conversations during leisure, what matters is precision and care. Before events unfold, we should plan ahead to secure peace. Who says there are no brilliant strategies for resisting foreign enemies? Outplan the other side, and there is no need to use force.

Daoist classics often connect the changing seasons with reflections on life. This poem describes early autumn, when the summer heat has not yet passed but the air grows cooler after rain: water is already flowing before the steps, while a sudden rumble of thunder carries from the distant horizon. The poet sits quietly beside a small table of curved wood, casually leaving the plain door open. Ambitious hopes have now been set aside; why keep a heart burdened with worry?

This passage also lists differences among editions of the Yichuan Jirang Collection. For example, some versions read “the state offers sacrifices only at the appointed seasons,” while others have “a pine pavilion and bamboo terrace are especially fitting” and “my home lies by the water and bamboo on the southern outskirts.” It also notes that the sixth year of the Tianbao era under Emperor Xuanzong of Tang corresponds to 747 CE.

How moving, and how sorrowful: what is life, after all? Perhaps all the countless affairs of this world can be poured into a single song.

The world’s affairs change as swiftly as a turning hand, and the years rush by like surging water. When I settle my mind and savor the taste of life, I find that there is much to be gained.

Injured Foot

This injury came unexpectedly, though the inconvenience it caused was not especially serious. It was only that I had gone against the principles of caring for life, causing my parents and family to worry as well.

For a time, walking was difficult, and now and then even climbing to high places or traveling far was out of reach. It was more than a month before I could finally go out. This brought to mind Confucius’ admonition, praising Le Zhengzichun for taking care to protect his body.

Leisurely Stroll

The garden looked desolate. As I recited poems and wandered through it, many thoughts came to mind.

Injured Foot

This injury came unexpectedly, though the inconvenience it caused was not especially serious. It was only that I had gone against the principles of caring for life, causing my parents and family to worry as well.

For a time, walking was difficult, and now and then even climbing to high places or traveling far was out of reach. It was more than a month before I could finally go out. This brought to mind Confucius’ admonition, praising Le Zhengzichun for taking care to protect his body.

Leisurely Stroll

The garden looked desolate. I walked by the marsh, reciting poems as I went. The Spring Society festival had just passed, and a gust of wind startled me; autumn frost had yet to fall, but the leaves were already drifting down.

The fading grass showed against the slanting sun, and the evening clouds seemed to bear up the distant sky. When will I see the scene as it truly is? Perhaps it can only be left in silence.

Rising at Dawn

With mountains high and waters deep, I could find no way to meet the situation before me. All things on earth must come to an end, yet the vault of heaven gives the human heart a reach across the ages.

At dawn, a light haze veiled the pavilion, and fine rain fell among the green trees. Though this scene is plain, where else in the world could one find its like?

Moonlit Night

The rain had stopped, and the wind was just right. Autumn was deep, yet the air was not cold. I moved my bed beneath the steps and watched the moon rise beyond the edge of the woods.

I had wine and wished to share it, but no guests were there to celebrate with me. If I meet a kindred friend in the future, it will still be hard to recreate this scene.

Potted Pool

There were only three or five little round lotus leaves in the basin, and not much water. It could not compare with a broad lake or marsh, yet even here a breeze stirred small ripples.

The scene offered a faint hint of the pleasures of rivers and lakes, though no mandarin ducks passed by. The delight of one living in retirement was hard to restrain: I often circled the basin, reciting poems in my cups.

Two Poems on Mountain Excursions

Mount Luo has many lovely peaks, and the Yi River valley has many beautiful bamboo groves. Each outing has its own fitting season. Even when I return again and again, the scenery never grows tiresome.

Longing for quiet does not compromise integrity, and visiting secluded places is not discourteous. The elk do not harm people, and people harbor no thought of harming the elk.

The twin peaks of Shaoshi and Taishi on Mount Song are graceful and beautiful, and fine clouds often gather around the Yi and Luo rivers. I never tire of watching the many aspects of human life. A calm presence quietly rises within me, and my spirits lift with it.

Once a single thought begins to waver, everything soon falls into disorder. People say that having nothing to do is a rare blessing. So I shall be someone with nothing to do.

Written on the Road to Longmen

The ways of the world and the workings of human feeling can be understood well enough. Why spend a whole life in worry and unease? I make my own arrangements for advancing or withdrawing, for accepting or declining. As for whether I am appointed to office, I follow the times; there is no fixed rule.

Clouds and mountains fill my view, and everywhere I find delight. A little honor or disgrace is nothing to panic over. They say the gates of the powerful are as deep as the sea, yet for thirty years I have come and gone at ease, never bound by them.

On Fame and Profit

In the end, fame and profit cannot bring happiness, and amid turmoil it is hard to find lasting peace. When your reputation is a little good, do not crave too much; when happiness first appears, do not chase after more than you need.

Too much fame often invites trouble. A quiet, modest happiness can grow without cause for worry. People throughout the world rush about, coming and going—do they ever understand this? They keep retracing the road that led to ruin before, and still they do not stop.

On Thirty Years

In thirty years, it feels as if another lifetime has passed. Some things in it were laughable; others brought sorrow. Birth and death in Heaven and Earth have never come to an end, and people’s praise, blame, and disputes have never ceased.

Mandarin ducks stay together, yet their heads turn white early. The cuckoo keeps calling until it sings blood. Know this: talent can sometimes become a burden; when talent is gone, we may grieve over its loss.

Reply to Someone’s Candid Words

We have not seen each other for some time. How have you felt? Now you have written a new poem, and when we meet again, we laugh and talk. Once we understand the ways of the world, our temperament grows calm; once we discern Heaven’s intent, our feelings gradually become more open and at ease.

You have fully grasped the way of happiness that Mencius spoke of, and your heart holds boundless delight. I have yet to understand the “knowing one’s errors” spoken of by Qu Boyu, famed in the Spring and Autumn period for correcting his mistakes. That is something I still need to learn.

I have understood the joy Mencius spoke of, and my heart is filled with boundless delight. Yet I have not come to know my former faults as deeply as Qu Boyu did. Most of what people discuss is little more than empty reputation. I am content to make my living gathering firewood and fishing in the hills, until old age.

Visiting the Luo River: Setting Out Through the Houzai Gate

As soon as I passed through the capital’s gate, I looked southwest toward the Luo River. The mountains and waters opened out before me, easing my mind; it seemed I could take in the whole landscape between Heaven and Earth.

Mulberry and elm trees shaded the village as dusk deepened. In the farmers’ fields, the millet and grain were ready for the autumn harvest. Such joys are found among ordinary people—why wait for a noble title or official rank?

Lodging at Yanqiu Manor

I rode by carriage to the Luo River, then dismounted to admire the splashing spring water. Suddenly I felt the joy of clouds among the mountains, and the clamor of the court and markets in the city vanished completely.

This did more than lift my spirits: it was enough to make me forget the constraints of the body and of speech. Tell me, friends in the dusty world, who could have discovered this joy before I did?

Lodging at the Western Temple of Shou’an

Beautiful scenery can indeed transform one’s mood, making one feel refreshed from head to toe. There are many lovely sights, and what delights me most is how close they are to the capital.

The green of bamboo blends with the mountain hues; the sound of wind in the pines mingles with the water’s murmur. How could I tire of admiring this scenery all day? I simply moved my bed beside the open veranda.

Passing the Yongji Bridge, Two Poems

Behind the mountains, ridges spread out like a painted screen, while the river winds along the Yongji Bridge. The fields lie flat as a palm, and the mulberry and paper-mulberry trees grow as tall as locust trees.

The slanting sun shines on a rainbow as it slowly fades into the distance; low clouds gather, as if rain were about to fall. Before this boundless, delicate beauty, I keep feeling that my learning is too meager to do it justice.

Passing the Yongji Bridge, Two Poems

A stream flows past a doorway, and layer upon layer of clouds gathers above it. Rare birds call among the tall trees; a secluded deer runs through the wild, remote thickets.

Rain falls in streaks over the level plain, where distant villages meet the rice fields. Half the tall city wall has already crumbled away. There is no need to speak further of rise and decline.

Arriving in Fuchang County

How many people truly love quiet, secluded scenery? If you do, you should seek it far away. Only after reaching the area near Mount Han did I see the Luo River’s deep, open expanse.

Fuchang County rests among cloud-wreathed mountains, its people’s homes encircled by streams and bamboo groves. My mind is free of schemes, at ease like an unencumbered thing; all the more, I feel how rare a kindred spirit is.

Reflections at Yantang

Several green peaks rise beside the river, and a clear stream shines among the trees. Idle clouds drift without fixed form; quiet birds call, though I do not know their names.

My traveling companions have already …, and I feel all the more how rare a kindred spirit is.

Several blue-green peaks continue through the mountains, and a clear, bright stream runs among the trees. Leisurely clouds have no fixed shape, and even the birds in the quiet mountain woods have names no one can tell.

Those traveling together made no arrangements beforehand, and there is no need to count the days or measure the distance on the way back. When dealing with the world’s petty, trivial matters, do not force yourself to put on a fearsome, imposing air.

Viewing the Southern Mountains from the Upper Temple

Peak after peak stretches westward, joining the broad mountain country around Liang and Yong. Rather than gazing at them from the road, it is better to sit quietly and take them in.

These peaks witnessed the Tang and Han dynasties and endured the ages of Jin and Han. So many events have faded away, beyond asking after; only you still rise high, unchanged.

The Lotus Pool at the County Commandant’s Residence

Before the county commandant’s modest quarters lies a pool of clear water, with lotus flowers growing in it. Here one can admire the lotus buds about to bloom and listen to the water murmuring as it flows.

The pool seems to lie amid rivers and lakes, far from the clamor of the world. Surely the ancients had good reason for shaping this scene as they did.

The Shrine of the Maiden

To the southwest stands a high mountain, lost in the far-off depths. The immortals cannot be seen; before my eyes there is only a vast haze of clouds.

Listening to the Flowing Water

The pool seems to lie amid rivers and lakes, far from the clamor of the world. Surely the ancients had good reason for shaping this scene as they did.

The Shrine of the Maiden

To the southwest stands a high mountain, lost in the far-off depths. The immortals cannot be seen; all around is only a haze of clouds.

The Shrine of the Maiden has stood for a thousand years, its gate facing the banks of the Luo River. People have heard only of the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe melody, the fabled music of the immortals; perhaps even now, someone in the world still sings it.

The Former Changlian Palace

The Luo River flows from the southwest, and the Chang River from the northwest. Where the two streams meet, only broken remnants of the palace walls remain.

Passersby can only imagine the past and recall what once was; those days have become traces. Now only Maiden Mountain remains, facing the Sanxiang Post Station.

Reflections on the Past by the River

Last autumn I visited the source of the Luo; this autumn I have come to the Luo River. Though the river is without feeling, the heart cannot help but stir with quiet emotion.

The mountains before me are too many for the eye to take in, one range following another beneath layers of mist. The peaks disappear from sight, yet the mist continues to meet the horizon.

Farmers hurry to gather the grain, while waterbirds leisurely search for fish. Both work to find food, yet how different their pace and activity.

Only after events have passed do we see their gains and losses, their worries and joys. Only when the moment arrives do we know when to draw back and when to stretch forward. Looking back at these two kinds of creatures, what would happen if their circumstances were exchanged?

Today’s mountains were once plains; today’s plains were once rivers.

The same is true of mountains and rivers; surely the affairs of human life are so as well. Fortunately, I have kept clear of the turmoil of the dusty world, never chasing after its waves and storms.

The land rises high and stretches wide. The river plain before me is today’s open country, and was once the course of a river.

The same is true of mountains and rivers; surely the affairs of human life are so as well. Fortunately, I have kept clear of the turmoil of the dusty world, never chasing after its waves and storms.

The land stretches far; river and plain open out in every direction. A solitary village sits amid the quiet waters and mist. Thunder rumbles softly, as though a dragon were flying over the riverbank; clouds drift in confusion, and rain seems to have moved in from the mountains.

Farmers shoulder their hoes and head home; fishers return with their nets on their backs. I alone am soaked through, still walking along the road.

Summer Drinking at Yantang Hall

Yantang Hall, the name of the pavilion, is airy and spacious, its eaves resting against a steep cliff. Cool breezes come from the tops of the pines, and clear springs splash beneath the shade of the bamboo grove.

Fresh fruit glows red and green, while fine wine is poured in measures large or small. I think of the city streets, where the heat shimmers and swelters—truly unbearable.

Sitting at Ease in Yantang Hall

Heaven’s net seems loosely woven, yet no one can escape it; the nets of worldly life, by contrast, are so tight they are hard to break free from. My heart is no longer shaken by external things, and so I have escaped both kinds of restraint.

Clear springs murmur among the tall bamboos, and pines stretch toward the fresh breeze. Another verse says: “Moonlight in the pine grove is serene and free; beyond the bamboo grove, the wind is cool and pleasant.”

To encounter such a scene at this moment accords perfectly with my state of mind.

Written by the River on the Day Autumn Begins

Wealth and honor are not worth coveting, yet poverty can easily bring sorrow. Do not carry the outlook of youth into old age, lest you feel ashamed later.

Since you have already known extraordinary happiness, beware of unforeseen troubles. Who can guarantee a smooth life from beginning to end, or a long career as a duke or marquis?

On Identifying Mount Xiong’er

Long ago, Yu the Great divided the Nine Provinces and began channeling the Luo River near Mount Xiong’er. There are two mountains called Xiong’er—which one is the right one?

The eastern mountain lies near Chengzhou; the western one is separated by the Dan River. The texts place it in Shangluo, and that account seems correct.

Climbing Mount Nü’er

I have seen many mountains, but never encountered scenery so extraordinary. The immense cliffs crouch like tigers, while the rugged rocks resemble banners unfurled in the wind.

Clouds drift at ease, spreading and gathering; the forms of the rocks, too, keep changing. This is the hardest place to capture in a painting, its scenery wondrous in every direction.

Looking south from the banks of the Yichuan River

The stone gate carved by Yu the Great still stands on the mountain, and traces of the flood from the time of Yao remain beside the river channel. The people of antiquity can no longer be seen, but their ancient remains may yet endure.

Time passes swiftly, but the effects of good and evil are hard to erase. Do not do things merely to win a name in the present, and do not force yourself to seek worldly honor.

The Herd Boy

His bamboo hat and straw rain cape accompany the herd boy wherever he goes, and he keeps his natural ease throughout. In warm weather he plays beside the deserted city; when the cold comes, he lies down to rest by an ancient tomb.

He sits on the ox’s back and plays a few notes on his flute, then sings a song along the field path. One imagines he has no wish to ask what is happening at court.

A Song in a Dream: Composed on the Road to Sanxiang

In the dream, I spoke of the dream, and after waking I still remembered it. But once I awoke, the world within the dream was cut off from the one before my eyes. Now, receiving favor, I rejoice in vain; the feelings of years gone by are already hard to recover.

Where streams converge, how could there be no sound? When flowers wither, how could their colors remain vivid? Even if we meet again, we will be like strangers; yet each of us will feel that we once knew the other.

Thirty-Six Poems on Autumn Reflections

(Written in 1061, the sixth year of Jiayou; Shao Yong was fifty-one)

The autumn night grows longer, and the stars shimmer as if vying with one another to shine. A light rain has just fallen in the courtyard, and a faint chill passes through the pillow and mat.

Nothing touched by moonlight can hide; the empty, clear mirror has a light of its own. In observing things, no principle can be concealed; with the heart empty and still, one naturally keeps to the constant Way.

Beside the sunny window, the sun has just begun to sink in the west; the quiet courtyard has just been washed by rain. Red orchids gently unfurl, while green bamboo leans companionably nearby.

Fame and fortune are like floating clouds; the heart is as detached as water. Though I am no one who has transcended the world, my thoughts can arise from beyond it.

The bright moon seems to rise from the heart of the sea, and a cool breeze blows in from the edge of the sky. The forms of all things appear of themselves, and the heart opens wide.

I have grasped the expedient ways of the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, and freed myself from the constraints imposed by benevolence and righteousness. Ritual and law were meant to guard against wrongdoing; were they really made for people like us?

Fine rain falls on tall paulownia trees, while a gentle breeze stirs the tender willow branches. The scene is the same year after year, yet as the years pass, people gradually grow gray.

Worries of the everyday world easily entangle the heart, and the spirit is hard to rouse amid worldly cares. Life’s ups and downs have long since become like a dream, yet people still struggle within that dream to grasp what is real.

In a clear stream, mandarin ducks are reflected on the surface like a pattern; in a cold pool, teal seem embroidered into the water. The sky is clear as water, yet the autumn river loses none of its deep green.

A man should have a steadfast heart; a brave warrior can face ten thousand foes. In the fragrant breeze from the lotus blossoms, they meet aboard a small boat, and each will naturally remember the other.

Yesterday, people hoped someone would bring them a thirst-quenching drink; today, they hope to put away their sunshades. People do not only clash with blades and spears: shifts between warmth and cold also wage war within the human heart.

Choices between benefit and harm arise from human feeling, while likes and dislikes depend on one’s point of view. If you want others to be good, you must first do good yourself.

The melon is as green as indigo grass, and the red peach glows like blood. They are so lovely that one cannot bear to pick them by hand, much less break their skin with one’s teeth.

Their color alone is charming, and their flavor is beyond compare. Eating such delicious fruit calls for no grand words of praise. It is sad that the human palate is always greedy.

The melon is as green as indigo grass, and the red peach glows like blood. They are so lovely that one cannot bear to pick them by hand, much less break their skin with one’s teeth.

Their color alone is charming, and their flavor is beyond compare. Eating such delicious fruit calls for no grand words of praise. Alas, the human palate!

The fate of the state rests with its people, and the lives of the people rest on grain. Even if a Sage appeared once more, this would not change.

Empty favors deserve no praise, and teaching people by indulging and accommodating them is worse still. False reputations deserve no regard, and teaching through outward embellishment is even less acceptable.

The Book of Songs speaks of taking a wife; the Book of Changes speaks of “Gui Mei” (the Marrying Maiden). The tale of the Seventh Night carries worldly affection and also expresses the young women’s wish to acquire skill in needlework.

When evening clouds and rain pass by, people say that the Cowherd and Weaver Girl have met. Clouds and rain are, by nature, without shape or trace—how could the Cowherd and Weaver Girl truly be husband and wife?

No one can claim the cool breeze for themselves, so I may enjoy it freely. No one can claim the bright moon either, so I may let its light shine through my window.

Once the heart is settled, how can things outside tempt me? Nothing else is worth saying; I only fear the wine jar may be empty.

Broad green banana leaves spread open, while verdant reeds droop and lean to one side. Wind and rain rustle through the night, and the water clock sounds deep and slow.

Those sights have nothing in them to dislike. What is strange about the feelings in my heart?

Once the heart is settled, how can things outside tempt me? Nothing else is worth saying; I only fear the wine jar may be empty.

Broad green banana leaves spread out in layers, while blue-green reeds droop and sway. Wind and rain rustle; the sky is dark and overcast. The clepsydra sounds again and again as the night grows deep.

Those things in the landscape are not, in themselves, objects of distaste. What is so strange about this state of mind? It is only that I think of the one who has traveled far, still held in my thoughts somewhere beyond the horizon.

A thin haze veils the sparse woods, and a light breeze stirs the chilly drizzle. At dusk, people have already returned home, while the chickens still peck at millet.

My mind was not moved by things outside me, yet this matter is truly hard to handle. To sum it up in a single sentence would probably take a few words after all.

In the eighth month, heat and coolness are perfectly balanced, and the very air of the landscape is especially pleasant. The trees on high ground seem to lean toward the distance; looking out, one sees how small the travelers are.

All things that leave traces are bound to be illusory. When the mind clings to nothing, all things become clear. Why keep asking what is bitter or sweet in it? I hope you will taste the knotweed for yourself: its pungency here stands for firsthand experience.

The yellow millet is ripe in autumn, and the yellow chickens are plump. These things are easy to obtain, yet the ancients often valued them highly.

They can be used to welcome guests and friends, or to support one’s parents. If coarse cloth is enough to see you through the year, what else is there to pursue?

Rice is born of Heaven, while the yeast for brewing is made by people. Fermented together, they become wine, and drinking it brings intoxication. Wine can soften the strong and make the timid resolute. It is good at changing a person’s state, and its effects are no small matter.

As autumn deepens day by day, my heart grows more idle. When tired, I walk down the steps; when I have leisure, I leaf through books.

The great road is full of dust. I hear it is hard to look at the scenery in peace. The gates of the marquises’ mansions are already far away and difficult to approach; the road to the emperor’s palace is farther still.

The wild geese flying south have not yet arrived, while the swallows have already left the beams. Mountains veiled in clouds rise layer upon layer. Where will we meet again?

The city gates rise high and steep, and the road to the roadside pavilion winds on without end. The climate wears away one’s clothes: newly changed garments soon become old.

Cicadas call off and on, and a sparse flight of geese passes before my eyes. The years slip by in vain, while human affairs grow ever more desolate and forlorn.

Wash the dust from among the bamboo and leave the new shoots behind; turn the pages of a book and come upon old passages again. Who would have thought that someone who cultivates the heart would wish to contend with the world for power?

In mid-autumn, the scenery is at its finest. The waterways of the Central Plain seem all the more wondrous, veiled in mist. As the weather grows colder, heaven and earth feel especially solemn, and people are just in the mood for a little wine.

I cleaned the space around my couch and waited for the bright moon. I loosened my collar and waited for the breeze. There is something in my heart, but no one knows what it is.

The moon is at its brightest, filling the tall pavilion with light; and the pavilion stands beneath the Mid-Autumn moon. At midnight, cool dew falls, while moonlight flows for a thousand miles.

Who brought this bright mirror and polished it to such brilliance? It has shone into the hearts of people through all the ages, and turned their hair white through all the ages.

Cold dew beads on the withered grass, and a bleak wind stirs the woods at dusk. The birds call high, then low; the sky clears, then clouds over.

The turning of the seasons is merely the change of a single year, yet the human heart carries feelings gathered over the ages. Who says Zhong Ziqi is dead? Can it be that nowhere in the world is there a kindred spirit?

Willow branches fan out in the wind like the teeth of a comb; thin frost clouds seem swept away. The tall pavilion rises into the open sky, as morning mist drifts lightly through the cold.

At this moment, my delight is not yet spent. What can keep at bay the decline that deepens with autumn? Only lifting the wine jar and drinking deeply into the west wind.

The lotuses in the pond wither day by day, while the chrysanthemums beside the fence flourish. Every kind of plant has its season of growth and decline, as if each were contending with the season in its own way.

Their times of flourishing and fading are not the same; the worthy and the foolish, too, can scarcely walk together. Where can one find the steadfast spirit of the pine and cassia, evergreen through all four seasons?

People grow old, and autumn deepens; the mountains grow more secluded, and the waters more remote. The tall trees have shed every leaf, and only the empty cries of the keen-sensed birds remain.

My sinews and bones are no longer what they were, and my moral cultivation has fallen short of the aspiration I held at the beginning. Fortunately, books remain, and I can still turn to them from time to time in search of guidance.

In the ninth month, the weather suddenly turns cold, yet cicadas still sing in the withered willows. Beyond the frost, sparse bell tones fade away; when the wind dies, faint sounds of nature still drift through.

A thousand mountain ridges crowd the distant view, while a single osprey beats its wings and climbs into the sky. If one were not free of worldly concerns, how could one speak so frankly and conduct oneself with such lofty bearing?

Frost-ripened pears are red and full; after prolonged rain, pomegranates split of their own accord. People prize these fruits, and their flavors truly are extraordinary.

The earth holds all things, while heaven says nothing. I worry that I still have too much to say, and cannot be as natural as the transformations of heaven and earth.

The south has delicious tangerines, and the north delicious chestnuts. Their shapes may be somewhat alike, but their flavors are truly different.

Does Heaven and Earth truly have no affection? Even plants and trees bear fruit. All things have never failed us; it is we ourselves who have failed them.

Butterflies flit around the cold hardy chrysanthemums, while crickets chirp beside the empty steps. A dog lies before the gate, and no visitors come all day.

Clear water flows quietly, and white clouds gather at ease. How can one give voice to the harmonious, peaceful breath between Heaven and Earth? At times, one drinks a cup of wine.

Red leaves fall in the western wind, while yellow flowers bloom beneath the chill sun. The Dao of Heaven waxes and wanes; nothing in human affairs remains forever unchanged or certain.

In stillness, the mind finds its own quiet aftertaste; only on waking from a dream do we know what we have lost. Benefit and harm do not always arrive together; right and wrong become clear from this.

On the ninth day of the ninth month, we gather on high ground, seeking secluded places and speaking freely of refined pleasures. People follow the old customs, while the weather gradually turns cold.

We drink white wine with its lees and admire yellow flowers beaded with dew. The affairs of this floating world slowly fade away; why stir up such great waves over them?

The mountains vanish into the evening haze, and birds fly beyond a solitary wisp of smoke. The fading chrysanthemums fear being broken by frost; the secluded orchids dread being ruined by the wind.

People dislike hardship and cherish wealth and rank. If my heart clings to nothing, how could love or hatred sway me?

The cold, clear pool reflects the state of one’s heart; once the leaves have fallen, the mountain’s bare frame is revealed. Only then do I believe that the Dao of Heaven is vast and boundless, and that even ten thousand miles cannot truly separate all things.

I hang my robe on Fusang, the sacred tree said to stand where the sun rises in the east, and reach toward the Moon’s Cavern, the legendary depths of the moon. So long as I do not betray the heart of benevolence and righteousness, even at fifty-one I can still make a difference.

When plants and trees are green, dew dampens our clothes; when they wither, the cold wind stings our skin. The conditions of all things arise without deliberate contrivance, yet people insist on giving rise to all kinds of doubts.

A fork in the road made Yang Zhu weep; dyed thread made Mozi grieve. Why did I understand these truths so late? I can only weep on alone, without end.

Beyond the ten thousand miles of clear sky, the moon hangs cold, as if coated with frost. The lofty pines remain green, while the many flowers and grasses gradually wither.

My teeth decay day by day, and my hair falls out day by day. The mistakes I have made in life are already many; at this point, it is hard not to feel troubled in my heart.

Autumn grasses wither, and the mountains and rivers look barren. The trees shed their leaves, and even Heaven and Earth seem lean and bare. The soil is dry, the wind blows hard, and a faint glimmer of sunlight shows through a break in the clouds.

What is past cannot be undone, so there is no need to regret it further. The future can still be set right. I cannot bear to speak of the rest; to say it would surely bring blame.

I do not drink much. After a few cups, my spirits and my face grow bright. Before the wine has taken hold, I cannot simply stop; once I am drunk, persuasion is unlikely to help.

Who says the myriad things are vast and boundless? In the end, none extend beyond the bounds of Heaven and Earth. Who says the affairs of the world are tangled and endless? They, too, never leave the realm of human relationships and worldly dealings.

In Reply to Zhang Shirou, Magistrate of Shan County, on “Poem on Shizhu Village”

You are the magistrate of Shan County; I am a descendant of Lord Kang. Our forebears left behind their achievements, and I asked you to investigate whether traces of them still remain.

You sent me a poem titled “Shizhu Village.” The ancient writings provide no definite record of when the stone pillar was first erected.

The inscription “Dividing Shaan” carved on the pillar appears only in records by Tang writers. So much time has passed that neither the beginning nor the end of the inscription survives in full.

It is not easy to establish the facts. Where else can we search for their origins? I fear my reading is insufficient and my understanding nothing exceptional.

Without the Classics and histories, I cannot dispel the confusion of others. If we follow Sima Qian’s account and the claim concerning Changqing and Gongyang, the land divided between the two regions should be in Shan County. If we follow the records in the “Jun Chen” and “Bi Ming,” it should be in Chengzhou. Perhaps there are grounds for accepting both accounts.

The Zhou king’s division of administrative duties between the east and west can also be explained through the relationship between Shaan and Luo. If this account comes close to the truth, it may settle some of the dispute.

The shade of the sweet pear tree is dense, and the stone pillar remains green as ever. I did not live to witness the flourishing of those times.

The “Two Nan” teachings advanced by the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao were upright and clear; their virtue and renown endure to this day. I can still hear these celebrated stories, passed down through a thousand years.

A Confucian should not cast aside the Classics and judge matters by hearsay alone. I have written this poem to explain my view and send it to you in haste, as a customary token of thanks.

Free Expression

Having tasted the joy of Xiyi—the subtle, still realm beyond words—I am no longer stirred by favor or disgrace. To cling to emptiness is still a form of clinging; to try to see all things as equal ultimately does not free one from dispute.

Having experienced the joy of “Xiyi”—clarity and stillness, Wuwei (non-action), and freedom from worldly things—one is no longer shaken in spirit by favor or disgrace. Clinging to “emptiness” is still a form of attachment; trying to see all things as equal ultimately gives rise to distinctions and disputes.

In a quiet moment, I sometimes pick up a brush and casually write my name. Who can go against their true nature and, beyond a state that is naturally free of feeling, give rise to another layer of emotion?

“On Congratulating Someone on Retiring from Office”: Most people enjoy serving as officials, but the discerning are never bound by rank. They do not resign and return their official seals because their stipend is meager, nor do they hang up their caps and leave office because they have grown old.

Reflecting that all things follow a pattern of flourishing and decline, I came to understand how Heaven’s heart—the Dao of Heaven—selects among things and lets them advance or recede as they will. At such a time, one should open one’s heart and take pleasure in quiet, secluded scenery. Besides, my hometown has beautiful mountains, woods, streams, and springs.

Early Autumn

Summer has passed, yet the heat has not quite faded. Only after the rain does a hint of coolness arrive. Water is already flowing before the steps, while thunder still rumbles on the horizon.

Early Autumn

Summer has passed, though the heat lingers; after the rain, coolness is only just beginning to appear. Water murmurs before the steps, and bursts of thunder still sound in the distance.

Sitting quietly, I lean against a small table; in my leisure, I open the humble wooden gate. My high ambitions have faded. What is there left to keep on my mind?

Jotted in Passing

Life makes one laugh, yet cannot help but stir one’s feelings. What, after all, is it? Better to sing all the world’s countless affairs into a single song.

The ways of the world change faster than a hand can turn; time rushes by more swiftly than flowing water. In stillness, one comes to know life’s true flavor—and gains a great deal from it.

Injured Foot

This misfortune came unexpectedly, but fortunately the injury is not serious. I have only myself to blame for going against the way of caring for my health and causing my parents and family to worry.

All at once, walking became difficult, and climbing to enjoy the view was beyond me. More than a month passed before I could go out again. I have not forgotten the old saying of Yue Zheng, who was known for offering good counsel.

Wandering at Leisure

The garden lies desolate. I walk and chant as I wander around the water. The wind stirs the young she plant, whose leaves fall before the frosts have even come.

Withered plants stand against the slanting sun, while evening clouds lift the distant sky. When will I see things as they truly are? For now, I can only reflect in silence; it is hard to put into words.

Rising at Dawn

The mountains are steep and the waters deep; at present, there is truly nothing I can do. The affairs of the mortal world will pass in time, while Heaven and Earth open their hearts to all eternity.

At dawn, a faint haze veils the tower; fine rain falls among the green woods. Such scenery may seem ordinary, but where in the human world can it be found so easily?

Moonlit Night

The rain has stopped, and the breeze feels especially pleasant. Though autumn is deepening, the weather is not yet cold. I move my bed beneath the steps and watch the moon rise beyond the edge of the woods.

I have wine and would share it, but there are no guests to drink with me. If I meet a dear friend someday, it may still be hard to find another night like this on which to admire the moon.

A basin pond held three or five small, round lotus plants, and could not contain much water. Though it was no match for a great lake or marsh, even it could stir up a little breeze and rippling wave.

The basin pond held, in a modest way, some of the charm of rivers and lakes, yet mandarin ducks never came to play there. The reclusive man could scarcely restrain his delight. He often wandered around the pond, absorbed in its beauty, composing poems for his own enjoyment.

Mount Luo has many lovely peaks, and the Yi River valley has many green bamboos. Each is best enjoyed in its own season; however often one visits, one never tires of them.

Loving what is pure and refined is no wrongful greed, and seeking out secluded places is no breach of propriety. Elk do no harm to people; so long as one harbors no intention of harming them, people and elk can live in peace.

Mount Ershi has many lovely peaks, and the Three Rivers region has many beautiful clouds. One can never tire of looking at mountains and clouds; a quiet peace of heart then arises unbidden.

Once thoughts begin to churn, everything becomes chaotic. People often say that having nothing to do is precious. I myself shall be a person with nothing to do.

The principles of things and the ways of human feeling are naturally clear to me. Have I ever spent my whole life in anxious distress? I decide for myself when to advance or withdraw, what to accept or let go; whether I am appointed to office depends on the changing times and has no fixed name.

Clouds and mountains fill my view with delight; a little honor or disgrace need not alarm me. I have heard that the gates of the powerful are deep as the sea, yet for thirty years I have passed by them at ease.

Fame and profit, in the end, bring no joy. Life’s troubles stretch on, while peaceful and secure moments are few. When your name earns a little praise, do not crave more; when you find a little ease and happiness, do not pursue it to excess.

Too much fame often invites disaster; there is no need to worry if quiet pleasures grow more abundant. People all over the world bustle after fame and profit. Have they ever considered how the same old mistakes keep being repeated, without end?

In thirty years, it seems, another lifetime has passed, with both laughable events and causes for sorrow. Birth and death between Heaven and Earth never cease, and disputes over right and wrong among people never fall silent.

Mandarin ducks stay together in deep affection, yet their heads turn white early. The cuckoo is famed for its call, singing until blood flows from its beak. Know that talent can sometimes become a source of trouble; when one lacks talent, one then grieves over that as well.

I have not seen you these past few days. I wonder how you have been feeling lately. Now I have read your new poems, and they brought a smile at first reading. Understanding the principles of things lends the temperament a touch more detachment; sensing Heaven’s heart—the natural order by which Heaven and Earth move—makes one feel that one’s desires, too, have grown faint.

You have already secured Meng Le, the joy of being content with quiet sufficiency, and the pleasure it brings is inexhaustible. As for Qu Ji…

It had been some time since we last met. How have you been feeling? Now that we meet again, we begin with laughter and conversation, then I take up a new poem once more. After understanding the principles of things, one’s nature grows more detached; after sensing the heart of Heaven, one’s feelings gradually grow more distant.

I have already found the kind of joy that Mencius spoke of, and my heart is at ease without bounds. Yet I have not learned, like Qu Boyu, to see clearly the mistakes I made in the past. All in all, as you said, empty fame is nothing. I am content to spend my life in the hills, a woodcutter or a fisherman.

Visiting the Luo River Plain, Just Beyond the Houchai Gate

As soon as I left the capital through its gate, I turned my gaze southwest toward a bend in the Luo River. Mountains and rivers opened before me, stirring thoughts of distant places; the vastness of Heaven and Earth filled my sight.

Mulberry and elm trees shaded the village as dusk deepened. The farmers’ crops had ripened, and the autumn harvest was underway. Such joys are part of everyday life for ordinary people. Why wait to be enfeoffed as a marquis?

Spending the Night at Yanchiu Estate

I drove to the Luo River, stopped the carriage, and dismounted to play in the splashing spring water. Suddenly I felt the joy of clouds among the mountains, and the bustle of the city vanished entirely.

This does more than lift the spirits; it is enough to make one forget one’s body and words. Tell me, among my friends in the dusty world, who can be the first to find this ease?

Spending the Night at the Western Temple of Shou’an

Beautiful scenery truly can transform the mood, leaving one refreshed from head to toe. There are many fine views here, and what delights me most is its nearness to the capital.

The green of the bamboo merges with the mountain slopes; the sound of wind in the pines mingles with the water. How could I be content to enjoy this for only a moment? I set down my daybed beside the open pillars of the corridor and took my fill of the view.

Two Poems on Passing Yongji Bridge

Behind the mountains, ridges unfold like a brocade screen; beside Yongji Bridge, the river winds and turns. This land especially pleases me, for it lies close to the capital.

Two Poems on Passing Yongji Bridge

Behind the mountains, ridges unfold like a brocade screen; beside Yongji Bridge, the river winds and turns. The fields are as level as a palm, and the mulberry and paper mulberry trees grow as tall as locust trees.

The slanting sun lights the rainbow as it slowly fades; low clouds gather, heavy with rain. I have failed to do justice to this boundless beauty, and often feel ashamed that my talents are not equal to it.

Streams flow past the doors one after another, and clouds gather above their mouths. Rare birds call from tall trees; a secluded deer runs through the wild, tangled shrubs.

Rain sweeps across the plain, while rice paddies stretch toward distant villages. Half the high city wall has crumbled away. There is no need to speak of rise and decline.

Written on Reaching Fuchang County

How many people know how to appreciate quiet beauty? If you truly love it, you must travel far in search of it. Only after reaching the vicinity of Mount Han and Mount Song did I see the Luo River’s vast and distant reaches.

The county seat lies nestled among cloud-wreathed mountains, and the people’s homes are half hidden among water and bamboo. I have no calculating mind, and am as carefree as all things at rest; for that very reason, I feel all the more that kindred spirits are few.

Scenes from Yantang

Beyond the river stand several verdant peaks, with a clear stream running through the woods. Idle clouds drift without direction, and even the birds in this secluded place have no names I know.

We did not arrange our outing in advance, nor need we count the days or plan our route home. The trifles of worldly life are like tiny units of weight, too small to be worth measuring. There is no need to force oneself to put on a stern, fearsome air.

Climbing to the Temple to View South Mountain

Peak rises upon peak, stretching westward toward Liang and Yong. Better to sit and take in the view than to keep walking as we look.

These mountains and rivers have borne witness to the Tang and Han, and to the changes of dynasties such as Jin and Han. The past has faded, beyond our power to question; only you remain lofty and steadfast.

The Lotus Pond at the County Commandant’s Office

Before the county commandant’s small study, the pond is clear, and lotus flowers grow in its waters. Here one can admire the blossoms still in bud and listen to the murmuring stream.

The scene feels like a waterside retreat among rivers and lakes, yet it lies far from the bustle of the world. The ancients took care to create this place; surely they had their reasons.

The Shrine of the Daughters

To the southwest, a high mountain disappears into a distant, hazy world. The immortals are nowhere to be seen; before my eyes there is only a vast haze of clouds and mist.

The Shrine of the Daughters has stood for a thousand years, facing the Luo River. People have only heard of the “Rainbow Skirt” melody, yet to this day it is still spoken of in the world.

The Ruins of the Old Chang’an Palace

The Luo River flows from the southwest, and the Chang River from the northwest. Where the two rivers meet, only remnants of the palace walls remain.

Travelers can only recall the past in their imagination; all has become a relic. Now only Daughter Mountain remains, facing the Sanyi Post Station.

Reminiscences by the River

Last autumn I visited the source of the Luo River; this autumn I have come to its lower reaches. The river has no feelings, yet my heart has suddenly stirred.

Looking far out, I see mountain range upon mountain range, veiled in layers of mist. The mountains fade from sight, but the mist has not dispersed; it seems to meet the sky.

Farmers are busy harvesting grain, while water birds leisurely seek fish. Both must work to find food, yet why are their actions and ways of life so different?

Only after events have passed can we see the joy and sorrow within them; only when our time comes can we understand when to advance, withdraw, or unfold our abilities. Looking back at these two kinds of living beings, what would happen if they exchanged places?

The mountains of today were once plains; the plains of today were once riverbeds.

Even mountains and rivers change in this way. Looking back at these two kinds of living beings, what would happen if they exchanged places?

Where there was once a flat riverbank, there is now a mountain; where the land is flat today, a river once ran.

If mountains and rivers can change so greatly, we should trust that the human world changes even more. Fortunately, I have not become entangled in worldly life, rising and falling with its storms, driven along wherever they carry me.

The land here is open and broad, with wide plains along the river, isolated villages, and quiet waters veiled in mist. Thunder murmurs softly, as if a dragon were skimming past the water’s edge; clouds churn in confusion, and the rain seems to have shifted the mountains from their places.

The farmers shoulder their hoes and leave the fields; the fishermen return with their nets on their backs. I alone am soaked by the rain, still walking along the road.

Drinking in the Cool at Yantang

Yantang Hall is spacious and bright, its eaves leaning against a steep cliff. Cool breezes stir the pine branches, and clear springs rush beneath the shade of the bamboo grove.

Fresh fruit offers a blend of red and green. Fine wine is poured freely, in whatever measure one chooses. I think of the marketplace, where the summer heat gathers and steams—a place truly hard to bear.

Sitting at Leisure in Yantang

Though Heaven’s net is loosely woven, nothing slips through; the nets of worldly convention are so tight that escape is difficult. My heart has long ceased to be stirred by external things, and so I have freed myself from the bonds of both Heaven’s net and the worldly net.

Tall bamboo is reflected in clear springs, and old pines welcome the breeze. Another version says: “The moon among the pines is bright and serene; the breeze beyond the bamboo is cold and refreshing.”

To encounter such a scene at this moment perfectly accords with my state of mind.

Written by the River on the Day Autumn Begins

Wealth and rank are not worth coveting, yet poverty can readily bring sorrow. Do not carry the outlook of youth into old age, where it will become a source of shame.

Having known extraordinary pleasures, one must guard against troubles that come without warning. Who can guarantee a smooth life from beginning to end, or a long tenure as a duke or lord?

On Identifying Mount Xionger

Long ago, Yu the Great divided the Nine Provinces and began dredging the Luo River at Mount Xionger. There are two mountains called Xionger—which one is the mountain meant here?

The eastern Mount Xionger lies near Chengzhou, the eastern Zhou capital; the western one is separated from it by the Dan River. The Shuzhuan records the mountain as being in Shangluo, and that account is correct.

Climbing Nü’er Mountain

I have seen many mountains, but never a sight so extraordinary. The immense cliffs resemble a crouching tiger, while the perilous crags seem like banners unfurled.

Clouds drift and curl at their leisure, and the shapes of the rocky peaks keep changing. The hardest scenes to describe are like this on every side.

Looking South toward the Yi River from the Riverbank

On the mountains of Yichuan, the stone gate carved by Yu the Great still remains; in the river valley, traces of Emperor Yao’s flood control can still be seen. The ancients are gone and can no longer be encountered, yet the sites they left behind may still endure.

Time readily causes things to wither and disappear, but the effects of good and evil are hard to bury. Do not deliberately contrive things to draw near to fame or win the world’s esteem.

Looking South Toward Yichuan from the Riverbank

On the mountains of Yichuan, the stone gate carved by Yu the Great still remains; in the river valley, traces of Emperor Yao’s flood control can still be seen. The ancients are gone and can no longer be encountered, yet the sites they left behind may still endure.

Time readily causes things to wither and disappear, but the effects of good and evil are hard to bury. Do not deliberately contrive things in pursuit of fame or force yourself to win the world’s respect.

The Herd Boy

The herd boy carries a bamboo hat and a straw rain cape wherever he goes, and has never lost his natural, unspoiled nature. In warm weather, he plays beside the ruined city; when it turns cold, he lies against an ancient tomb.

He sits on the ox’s back and plays a few notes on his flute, then sings a song along the field path. He seems to have no interest in what is happening at court.

A Verse Sung in a Dream · Composed on the Road Through Sanxiang

In a dream, we speak of dreams, and remember them after waking; yet once we wake from the dream, reality and the dream seem separated by a veil.

Today, receiving favor brings only empty joy to the heart; the affection of years past is already hard to recover.

When water gathers into a river, can it make no sound? When flowers fade, how can they still keep their color? From now on, even if we happen to meet along the road, we will seem like people who have known each other all along.

Thirty-Six Poems on Autumn Reflections

The autumn night grows longer. The bright moon rises, and the stars shine. A light rain passes over the courtyard, and a faint coolness seeps between pillow and mat.

Nothing can hide from the moonlight; the clear mirror has its own radiance. Nothing in the ways of the world can conceal its underlying truth; the still and empty heart has its enduring principles.

On a sunny day, the sun has only just begun to sink westward; a shower has just washed the quiet courtyard. Red orchids quietly unfurl, while green bamboo leans at ease.

Honor and profit gather and scatter like floating clouds; the mind remains as calm and clear as water. Though a person still dwells in the world, the heart can rise beyond the dust of what lies before it.

The bright moon rises from the sea, and a cool breeze comes from the edge of the sky. The forms of all things appear of their own accord, and the feelings within the heart suddenly open and expand.

Having grasped the art of adapting to circumstances taught by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, one can be free of the restraints imposed by benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and law. These rules were established to prevent wickedness and wrongdoing. Were they really meant to bind people like us?

Sparse raindrops fall on the lofty parasol trees, while a light breeze gently stirs the supple willow branches.

The bright moon rises over the sea, and a cool wind blows in from the horizon. The scene reveals itself naturally, and the heart suddenly opens and feels at ease.

Having grasped the art of adapting to circumstances taught by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, one can be free of the restraints imposed by benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and law. These rules were established to prevent wickedness and wrongdoing. Were they really meant to bind people like us?

Sparse raindrops fall on the lofty parasol trees, while a light breeze gently stirs the supple willow branches. The scene looks much the same year after year, yet as time passes, people’s hair gradually turns white.

The troubles of worldly life readily ensnare the heart, and feelings tied to the mortal world are hard to shake off. Life is like a dream, yet people insist on pursuing truth and substance within it.

In the clear stream, mandarin ducks cast vivid reflections; in the cold pool, the feathers of the loons seem embroidered with patterns. The distant sky is as clear as water, and the autumn river remains emerald green.

A man should hold ambition within himself; a courageous warrior has the strength to face a thousand troops. Amid the fragrance of lotus blossoms, even if we depart by boat, we will remember one another.

Yesterday, I hoped someone would bring me iced drinks to escape the heat; today, I am thinking of putting away my fan. People may take up arms against one another, but even changes from heat to cold can stir conflict in the human heart.

Choices between gain and loss arise from our feelings, while likes and dislikes depend on our perspective. If you want others to be good, you must first do good yourself.

The green melons are as verdant as indigo plants, and the red peaches glow like blood. They are so beautiful that one cannot bear to pluck them by hand, much less bite into them.

Their colors are already so pleasing, and their taste is more exquisite still. After eating such fruit, one feels that no delicacy can compare. How lamentable that people are so often led astray by their appetites.

The fate of a state rests with its people, and the people’s survival rests on grain. Even if a sage were to appear again, this principle would not change.

Empty generosity is not worth praising; teaching people cannot mean merely indulging them. False reputation is not worth pursuing; instruction should not amount to dressing up appearances.

The Odes of Zhou, in the Book of Songs, speak of taking a wife, and the Book of Changes, a classic of Confucianism, includes the “Gui Mei” hexagram, which concerns a woman’s marriage. The Qixi Festival story gives expression to worldly feelings and also reveals how young people pray for skillful hands.

When the evening clouds and rain disperse, people say that the Cowherd and Weaver Girl have met. Clouds and rain leave no trace; how could the Cowherd and Weaver Girl truly marry and become a couple?

No one has a claim to the breeze, so I can enjoy it freely; no one owns the bright moon, so I can let its light shine through my window.

When the mind is at peace, how can external things tempt me? There is little else worth saying; I only worry that there may be no wine in the cup.

The leaves of the green banana plant unfurl, while the emerald reeds droop and lean. Wind and rain rustle; the sky grows dark. Deep into the night, the water clock’s dripping grows fainter.

These plants and trees are naturally free of feeling and care. What is strange about the sorrow in my heart? It is only that the traveler remains stranded at the edge of the world, and I cannot stop worrying.

A plain, quiet life—if only there were no fear of finding the wine jar empty.

The leaves of the green banana plant unfurl, while the emerald reeds droop and lean. Wind and rain rustle; the sky grows dark. Deep into the night, the water clock’s dripping grows fainter.

These plants and trees are naturally free of feeling and care. What is strange about the sorrow in my heart? It is only that the traveler remains stranded at the edge of the world, and I cannot stop worrying.

Thin mist veils the sparse woods, and a light wind carries the cold rain. At dusk, people have already gone home, while the chickens still peck at millet.

My heart is not usually moved by things outside me, but this matter is truly hard to resolve. To put it in a single sentence may still take some explaining.

In the eighth month, the warmth and chill are just in balance, and autumn has a charm all its own. The trees on the heights seem to droop before my eyes; in the distance, the figures of travelers look small.

Whatever leaves a trace may be no more than illusion. When the heart clings to nothing, all things can be let go. Why ask again whether it is bitter or sweet? I only hope you will taste the sharp bite of smartweed for yourself.

The yellow millet is ripe in autumn, and the yellow chickens are plump. These things are easy to come by, yet the ancients often prized them.

They can welcome guests and friends, or provide for parents and elders. If coarse clothes are enough to see one through the year, what more is there to desire?

Rice is born of Heaven; the yeast is made by human hands. Brew them into wine, and a drink will make you drunk.

The yellow millet is ripe in autumn, and the yellow chickens are plump. These things are easy to come by, yet the ancients often prized them.

They can welcome guests and friends, or provide for parents and elders. If coarse clothes are enough to see one through the year, what more is there to desire?

The strong may grow gentle after drinking, while the timid may become resolute. Wine can transform a person’s state, as though it could set the powers of creation in motion. Its effect is no small thing.

Autumn deepens day by day, and my aging heart grows ever more indolent. When tired, I walk down the steps; when idle, I leaf through a book.

Dust swirls along the broad streets. I hear it is hard there to give the eyes any rest. The mansions of the powerful are too deep to enter; the palace gate lies farther still, beyond reach.

The autumn geese have yet to arrive, while the swallows beneath the beams have already departed. Clouds and mountains rise in layer upon layer, separating us by thousands of miles. Where might we meet again?

The capital’s gates tower high and steep; the road to the wayside pavilion winds and turns. The weather wears away my clothes as I travel. No sooner do I put on something new than it is old again.

The cicadas call fitfully, and autumn geese drift down before my eyes, few and far between. Time slips away in vain, never to return; even the swallows beneath the roof beams have left. Cloud-wrapped mountains rise in fold upon fold, with ten thousand peaks between us. Where will we meet again?

The city gate towers high and sheer, opening onto an old road that winds past a succession of long pavilion stations. Frost, dust, and wind wear down my clothes along the way. No sooner have I changed into new garments than they grow old again.

The cicadas call fitfully, and autumn geese drift down before my eyes, few and far between. Time slips away to no purpose, and the world grows ever more desolate and still.

I wash the bamboo grove, leaving its new shoots behind; I open a book and come upon familiar old chapters. Who would have thought that one who cultivates body and mind would be willing to contend with the world for power and position?

The Mid-Autumn season is at its loveliest, and the misty waters of the Central Plain are especially beautiful. The weather grows steadily colder, yet people have already had a little to drink.

To welcome the bright moon, I sweep the bed clean. I open my robe and wait for the breeze. There is something in my heart, but no one knows.

Beautiful moonlight fills the tall pavilion, and Mid-Autumn has come once more. At midnight, cold dew falls; for a thousand miles, the earth is awash in the moon’s cool light.

Who brought this bright mirror here, carefully wiped it clean, and polished it anew? It shines through the hearts of people across all ages, and turns their hair white across all ages.

Cold dew beads on withered blades of grass; a mournful wind stirs the evening woods. Birds call, now high, now low, as the sky shifts between clear and overcast.

The turning of the seasons is only a passing change in nature; the human heart, by contrast, remains bound to ages past. Who says that since Zhong Ziqi has died, there can be no one left in the world who understands us?

The wind parts the willow branches like the teeth of a comb; thin clouds of frost spread across the sky as if swept into place. A tall pavilion rises into the open air, while low mist curls upward in the chill of morning.

My spirits are not yet spent. What can ward off autumn’s bleakness? I can only take up a flask and drink deeply with the west wind.

The lotuses in the pond wither day by day, while the chrysanthemums by the fence flourish. Among all the kinds of things in the world, each follows the changing seasons and reveals a different way of being alive.

Flourishing and decline do not come at the same time; the worthy and the foolish can hardly walk together. Where can we find the character of pines and cassia trees, ever green through all four seasons?

The lotuses in the pond wither day by day, while the chrysanthemums by the fence flourish. Among all the kinds of things in the world, each follows the changing seasons and reveals a different way of being alive.

Flourishing and decline do not come at the same time; the worthy and the foolish can hardly walk together. Where can we find the character of pines and cassia trees, ever green through all four seasons?

I grow older, and autumn deepens. The mountains lie secluded, and the waters stretch far into the distance. The lofty trees have shed all their leaves; the keen-witted birds sing sweetly to no avail.

My strength and vigor are no longer what they once were, and my moral cultivation has fallen short of the aspirations I held at the beginning. Fortunately, books and writings remain, ready to be opened and consulted again and again.

In September the weather suddenly turns chilly, though cicadas still sing in the withered willows. Far away, under a veil of frost, scattered bells ring at longer and longer intervals. After the wind dies down, faint sounds still drift through the air.

Layer upon layer of mountains throws the distant view into confusion; an osprey beats its wings and climbs straight into the sky. Who would dare speak so boldly and risk so much, if not someone free of worldly concerns?

Most pears redden after frost, while pomegranates split open on their own after long rains. People prize these fruits, and their flavors truly are remarkable.

The earth provides all manner of things, while Heaven hangs not a single word. I worry that I still have words of my own, and cannot be silent like the natural process by which Heaven and Earth bring all things into being.

In the south there are fine oranges; in the north, fine chestnuts. Their outer coverings may look somewhat alike, but their flavors are truly different.

Can Heaven and Earth really be without feeling? Even plants and trees bear fruit. Things have never failed humankind; it is humankind that has failed them.

Butterflies flutter around the chrysanthemums in the cold, while crickets chirp on the deserted steps. A dog lies before the gate, and no guest comes all day.

Clear water flows quietly, and white clouds gather at ease. How can I give free expression to the harmony within my nature? By pausing now and then for a cup of wine.

Red leaves stir in the west wind; yellow chrysanthemums bloom and smile beneath the cold sun. The Dao of Heaven waxes and wanes. In the human world, nothing is certain to remain unchanged.

In stillness, one senses meanings that are hard to notice in daily life; only after waking from a dream does one realize what has been lost. Gain and loss do not always go together; only then do right and wrong become clear.

On the ninth day of the ninth month, we climb to a height and gather, seeking a quiet retreat and talking freely about refined pleasures. People follow the old customs, and the weather grows a little colder.

We drink the white wine with its lees, and admire the yellow chrysanthemums still covered in dew. The affairs of this fleeting world gradually fall silent. Why stir up such a storm over them?

Mountain ranges lie across the evening haze, while birds fly beyond a solitary plume of smoke. The fading chrysanthemums worry that frost will break them; the secluded orchids fear the wind will damage them.

People dislike hardship and love wealth and rank. If my heart does not cling to myself, how could love and hatred sway me?

When the water is cold, the pool grows clear enough to reflect the human heart. When the leaves have all fallen, the mountains and forests reveal their true outlines. Then I believe that the Dao of Heaven has no bounds, and that even ten thousand miles cannot separate the myriad things.

I hung my clothes on Fusang, the legendary sacred tree in the east where the sun rises, and reached out toward the Moon’s Cavern, the fabled dwelling place of the moon. I did not betray my sense of humanity and justice; I merely lived to the age of fifty-one.

When the plants and trees are green, dew soaks one’s clothes; when they wither, the cold wind cuts to the bone. The nature of things is nothing unusual in itself. It is the human mind that insists on giving rise to doubt.

A fork in the road made Yang Zhu weep; dyed white silk made Mozi grieve. Why have I understood these truths only now, so late? All that remains is for my tears to flow without end.

Beyond ten thousand miles of clear sky, the moon hangs like a disk veiled in frost. The tall pines still stand green and upright, while the other flowers and grasses gradually wither.

My teeth weaken day by day, and my hair falls out day by day. I have already incurred blame many times; this heart of mine is not worth troubling over again.

The plants and trees wither, and the mountains and rivers seem barren; the leaves fall away, and heaven and earth seem to grow lean. The ground cracks, and fierce winds rise; sunlight filters faintly through gaps in the clouds.

What is past cannot be brought back, but what lies ahead can still be put right. I cannot bear to speak of the rest; to do so would surely bring blame.

I do not drink much. After a few cups, my spirits lift and my face grows warm. I cannot stop before becoming slightly tipsy; once I am tipsy, it is hard to persuade me to drink more.

Who says the myriad things are vast and boundless? Can they go beyond the limits of heaven and earth? Who says worldly affairs are tangled and endless? Can they go beyond the bounds of human feeling?

In Reply to Magistrate Zhang Shirou of Shan: “Poem on Shizhu Village”

You are the magistrate of Shan County, and I am a descendant of Duke Kang. My ancestors left behind achievements; I have entrusted you with seeking out and examining these traces.

You sent me a poem titled “Poem on Shizhu Village.” When was the stone pillar first erected? The ancient books offer no reliable evidence.

The pillar bears an inscription called “The Inscription on the Division of Shan,” but that is only what people of the Tang dynasty called it. So much time has passed that neither the beginning nor the end of the inscription survives intact.

These records are too uncertain to establish the matter. Where, then, can we look for the pillar’s origins? I fear my reading is limited, and my knowledge no greater than that of ordinary people.

Beyond the Jing and the historical records, I cannot resolve these many doubts. According to Sima Qian, courtesy name Zichang, and the Gongyang Commentary, the Duke of Zhou began dividing the administration at Shan.

According to the accounts in the Lord Chen and the Completion of the Bi Command, however, the division should be said to have taken place at Chengzhou. Both accounts may be accepted; each has its own basis in reason.

The division of responsibility for affairs in the east and west can be explained in terms of Shan and Luoyi. If this account comes close to the truth, it may finally settle the debate.

The branches and leaves of the sweet crabapple tree grew lush. The Duke of Shao once handled affairs of state beneath it, and later generations erected a stone pillar at Chengzhou to commemorate this. Either form of remembrance may be used; in principle, each has its merits, and both deserve respect.

If administrative districts are to be established in the eastern and western suburbs, their division could be discussed with reference to Shaan and Luo. If this account is close to the truth, it may help bring disputes to an end.

The sweet crabapple tree still flourishes, and the stone pillar remains green as if newly made. I did not live to witness those splendid events of old.

The Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao spread orthodox instruction through the “Zhou Nan” and “Shao Nan,” and their upright virtue left a fine reputation. I can still hear the good stories passed down through a thousand years.

To abandon the classics and act on hearsay alone has never accorded with the Confucian standard. I have written this poem to make the point, and thereby offer a modest reply to you.

Speaking Freely

Having understood the joy of Xiyi—the tranquil, Wuwei state of rising beyond worldly concerns—one is no longer unsettled by favor or disgrace. Clinging to emptiness is still a form of attachment; claiming that all things are equal ultimately leads back into argument.

In idle moments, I pick up my brush and often write down my name. Who would make one’s true nature suffer, or conjure up feelings beyond one’s nature?

In 1062, the poet was fifty-two. His new home in Tianjin had just been completed, and he wrote a poem to thank the prefect, Lord Wang Jun-kuang, a Minister of the Court.

Construction on the new home began in the Renyin year of Jiayou. It still stands in Daode Ward, but now lies closer to the imperial palace. Looking up from the balustrade, one can see the lofty Duan Gate; the windows of the reception hall face the grand twin towers. With the windows open, one can hear the waters of the Chan and Jian rivers. From the raised terrace, the view stretches to the Yi River and Mount Song, clear and bright.

Such beautiful scenery is rare, and an age of peace and prosperity is not easily found. I lack the ability to govern the realm, yet am fortunate to share in the joy of a year of abundant harvests. Water and bamboo surround my home, like trusted companions close to my heart; the songs of orioles and the scent of flowers gather here, as though all things had found a quiet refuge. Like Lao Laizi, I take endless delight in life. How could a life of quietness and steadfastness ever be exhausted?

I can roam freely among the mountains and waters with those who share my aspirations, and I am grateful to the prefect for taking such care in arranging the construction of my home. I write these words with heartfelt sincerity, yet they cannot repay his profound kindness.

A New Year’s Verse

I am now fifty-two and often ill, yet at the New Year I can still raise a cup and drink with others. Mencius spoke of how to preserve one’s nature, and I have often hoped to achieve this. But when it comes to joy within the heart, my practice falls short of Yan Hui’s.

The swallows leave and return, only to wear themselves out for nothing; the flowers bloom and fade, ceaselessly urging time onward. My heart does not change with other people’s joys and sorrows. For twenty years, my state of mind has been as still as ashes.

A Guest’s Song

In the region of the Yi River and Mount Song lives a guest who is not much inclined to speak. He has always believed that coming and going, advancing and withdrawing should be left to Heaven’s will. He loves quiet, yet cannot let go of mountains and streams; he is content with a secluded life, but not in order to become an immortal.

There is no need to lament that you cannot be a guest amid the bustling streets of the capital. Be glad instead that the clear breeze costs nothing to enjoy. What is there to fret over if you accept a little hardship now for a lasting benefit? This guest simply says no more, leaving his advances and retreats to Heaven’s will. He loves quiet, yet remains attached to mountains and streams; he is content with a secluded life, but not to cultivate himself into an immortal.

There is no need to lament that you cannot live amid the capital’s bustle. Be glad instead that the clear breeze comes free. Why fret over a little hardship now for the sake of lasting benefit? This heart is open and at ease, asking nothing to be perfect in every respect.

Spring in a Small Garden

The pavilions and railings, arranged informally in the small garden, still reveal the brilliance of spring. In a moment of leisure, there is no harm in sitting awhile beside a wine shop. At night, moonlight quietly filters through the eaves among the flowers; by day, the haze beyond the bamboo grove brings a cool chill.

Only when we come to understand the affairs of the world do we realize how much is mere chance. Could there be no reason Heaven has granted me a life of leisure? Within the pot lies a vast and lasting world—the “sun and moon in the pot” is a familiar Daoist image for a world apart, and a life of ease and freedom. Let me enjoy this scene to the full, as though twelve years have already passed.

A Song for Late Spring

Spring comes to the small garden, and a hundred flowers vie to bloom. Who says a poor household cannot enjoy a spring as splendid as a wealthy one’s? Outside the gate, willow shade glistens with green; before the steps, flower shadows ripple in a wash of red.

The new swallows beneath the roof beams have yet to learn to sing, while the returning wild geese have already formed ranks in the sky. I ask myself: what is there in my heart? The answer is this: the pleasures of idleness and ease are the most enduring.

Cherishing the Blossoms

On reflection, none of the countless things in this world compares with laughing freely beneath the flowers. Spring blossoms generally last for only one season, and their radiant beauty often fades in less than ten days.

I worry, too, that sorrow may cause us to miss the chance to admire the flowers, and that wind and rain may stand in our way. Do not leave yourself regrets for the future. While you can still climb to enjoy the flowers and raise a cup of wine, savor the moment to your heart’s content.

Reply to One Who Sent Me a Poem

There is no need to worry as my hair gradually turns white, for I have my zither and books for company. Since I lack the talent to govern the world and cannot help bring about a peaceful age, I would do better to lie back and rest beneath the southern window.

Though I know my strength has ebbed and I can no longer push myself, I still say that I have not abandoned my aspirations among the cloud-wreathed mountains. I am grateful for such deep affection from an old friend. Fortunately, this little fish trapped in a cart rut—the fish from the parable in the Zhuangzi—has not died of thirst before reaching the West River.

Playing with the Brush

I am already fifty-two. What is there to fear in growing old? In doing things, what matters is seeing clearly; words, though, are hard to bring to an end.

Above me is a wise and enlightened emperor; below, capable princes. Beyond eating my fill and sleeping well, I ask for nothing.

Asking Someone for Wine

Though this old frame is burdened with every illness, at least I am still alive. Today my head is entirely white, and I am ashamed that I have put things off and grown lax for so long. Though no urgent imperial summons has arrived—the “purple edict,” that is, an emperor’s command—the quiet mountains and waters often visit my dreams.

Who can claim the wind and moon that fill the sky as their own? Are there no admirers of the forests and springs spread across the land? The wine bought at the market is not rich enough in flavor; I always feel I have failed the springtime stirring in my heart.

Reply to a Guest

I cannot say how many people I know in this world, but knowing many people does not mean they truly understand me. Many admire me because of my Dao (the Way); those who know only my shallower side know me through my poems.

Do not ask about the rises and falls of honor and disgrace over a hundred years. All ages, past and present, are like a game of chess. If you mean to ride, you should seek a fine steed; alas, none has appeared yet.

One Awakened by a Single Sentence

However much one thinks, one’s plans may still be clumsy; a single sentence, though, can dispel confusion in an instant. Nothing in this world is beyond measure, and outstanding people are to be found throughout the land.

The only fear is that such talent may be hard to encounter. Why worry that the Great Way has not yet been made known? If only we can root out jealousy entirely, what worldly troubles could still entangle us?

Thanks for the Gift of a Brush

I am deeply grateful that you took such care in sending these writing implements, and for your kindness in dispatching this brush from so far away. Its bristles are made of rabbit hair, firm and strong; its shaft is bamboo, straight and slender.

I can quietly record newly written drafts of poems and, in my spare time, copy old prescriptions. It serves no other purpose; having it is enough to keep my brushwork keen and hone my literary skill.

A Chant on Writing of Affairs

Heaven and Earth follow their own constant patterns, and nothing can escape the watchful course of the sun and moon. Apart from eating one’s fill and sleeping in peace, most things in the world are little more than empty reputation.

Though one may lack the talents of Yi Yin or Lü Shang, that need not prevent one from living like an ordinary person in the age of Yao and Shun. Why must one personally serve as a minister before the realm can be at peace?

Twin-Headed Lotus

Those two beautiful sisters of the Han dynasty seemed like ethereal immortals from Mount Tiantai. Their enchanting story was passed down through the ages; then, banished to the human world, they became a twin lotus, an auspicious sign.

In Reply to Someone’s Letter

Confucius spoke of rectifying human nature, while Mencius spoke of putting human nature into practice. If one can understand and embody both for oneself, one may say that one has not lived in vain.

In dealings with others, follow what is right; in responding to them, be sincere. Then even when facing an army, no one can invade or humiliate you.

In Reply to Someone’s Letter

Building a career without official rank is difficult; achieving merit when the right moment comes is easy. Seeking to satisfy every expectation invites slander. To accomplish something great, one must set aside some minor details.

When removing wrongdoing, one may worry about hurting a bond of gratitude; when allowing it to remain, one may fear damaging what is right. Such a person may have a kind heart, but lacks the resolve to put benevolence into practice.

In Reply to Someone

A minister’s yearly salary equals what a poor scholar might spend in a lifetime. Official ranks may differ, but inner virtue and reputation—when have they ever been lacking?

Without frost and snow, how could we know the steadfastness of pine and cassia? Even without official rank, one can hold oneself in esteem. Must one lack what is right in order to be unable to make oneself worthy?

Talking with Someone About the Past

What the ears heard and the eyes saw has, in the blink of an eye, passed into the distance of thirty years. Only ten leap months have gone by, yet a whole generation has changed in the world.

Families once prominent have now fallen into decline; before their grand vermilion gates, the carriages and horses have changed. The affairs of the world have always been subject to chance and change. Which of them, then, can truly count as a personal achievement?

Casual Verses

A thought suddenly comes to mind, and in a quiet moment I take up my brush. I often find joy in cultivating my nature. When facing a scene, how could I feel nothing? Nor have I ever forgotten the emotions it stirs.

Lines of verse often come drifting in, and poems are frequently composed by chance. The workings of innate inspiration are hard to describe; in my heart, I naturally grasp a little of them.

Verses While Sitting at Ease

I once reckoned the gains and losses of a lifetime. Only now do I know that worldly affairs seldom go as one wishes. Heaven’s decree offered me no protection, so I have no choice but to entrust my feelings to the clouds and mountains and find contentment there.

For reasons I cannot explain, I was born indifferent to worldly things, and so came close to “Xiyi” (a Daoist term for the Dao, which is without sound or color and beyond perception). Yet if I still hope to mock the “True Ruler” (the Daoist master of the transformations of Heaven and Earth), I am likely only wasting my thoughts and exhausting myself in vain.

Strolling at Leisure in Tianjin

This is the ancient capital of the Son of Heaven, at the heart of the realm, alive everywhere with vigorous energy. Gardens stand beside the water, while halls and pavilions stretch in the distance, reflected against the colors of autumn.

The water surges into foaming white waves, though the summer heat has not quite faded. A rainbow-like scene lingers over the bridge beneath the clear sky. Days of leisure and freedom from worldly business are rare; this is just the place to linger.

Secluded Dwelling in Tianjin

I lodge within the city of Luoyang, and happen to live in Tianjin. Here the sun rises close at hand, so daylight seems to come earlier; the sky hangs low, and spring seems to arrive sooner as well.

Time itself seems especially kind to this place, and the scenery treats the recluse generously. I can naturally leave office behind and spend the rest of my life in ease.

The Sound of Water in Tianjin

The Luo River runs close to my dwelling, its murmuring reaching all the way to my pillow. After midautumn, the rush of the current wakes me; by the fifth watch, the waves grow more turbulent.

When a light breeze passes, the water sounds soft and gentle; after a sudden rain, its voice becomes faint and subdued. The recluse has pleasures like these. Why listen to the sheng and yu, ancient wind instruments, at all?

Sleepless

I sit alone until late, yet the night still seems long. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep, I find myself recalling the past.

Once my pillow is in place, my awareness begins to grow dim; after I draw my clothes and bedding close, my mind remains restless and alert. Moonlight shines through the western window, casting the shadows of a few banana leaves.

The Small Pavilion at Tiangong

On a summer day I come to the small pavilion at Tiangong and lean against the railing, gazing into a seemingly endless scene. The ancients thought far ahead, and the grandeur of the Son of Heaven’s capital is plain to see.

Towers and terraces lie deep within the clouds and mist; mountains and rivers are veiled in the evening haze. People come and go, but who can understand what I feel at this moment?

Listening to the Qin

Night is the perfect time to listen to the qin, whose music stirs a particular kind of feeling. Just as I think the cries of the grieving gibbons have faded, I hear again the mournful call of the phoenix.

The green mountains hold endless beauty; there is no need to be alarmed by white hair. Only by grasping the meaning of “sitting in forgetfulness” (a Daoist state of practice in which one forgets the self and unites with the Dao) can one understand the unadorned, natural spirit of primordial times.

Twenty-Six Poems on Impressions of Tianjin

At dusk, the clouds are thin, and the setting sun seems pale. The autumn wind blows briskly through sparse woods, and the banks of the Luo River are steeped in autumn. I wander alone and recite poetry alone. No one around me understands my feelings; only gulls and egrets now and then alight on the sandbars by the water.

Most of the glories and humiliations of the past have vanished from sight. The changing of eras and the rise and fall of dynasties bring only sorrow. Look at Chang’an’s main avenue today: even at dusk, people still stream back and forth.

Clouds and mist lie locked away in the depths of lofty towers, held there for another hundred years. I think of the sacrifice at Fenyin, after which the emperor’s ceremonial banners—his imperial retinue—left the spring days of Shangyang Palace forsaken, and I cannot help but grieve. The lament is that palaces and imperial splendor must, in the end, decline as the ages change.

Most of the glories and humiliations of the past have vanished from sight. The changing of eras and the rise and fall of dynasties bring only sorrow. Look at Chang’an’s main avenue today: even at dusk, people still stream back and forth.

Clouds and mist lie locked away in the depths of lofty towers, held there for another hundred years. I think of the sacrifice at Fenyin, after which the emperor’s ceremonial banners—his imperial retinue—left the spring days of Shangyang Palace forsaken, and I cannot help but grieve. The lament is that palaces and imperial splendor must, in the end, decline as the ages change.

Who brought the Yellow River here, to flow through Luoyang? When the emperor’s carriage traveled east, the river seemed to grow calm. Yet its surging torrents will not be restrained by Tianjin Bridge, the bridge over the Luo River. Day and night they rush on, roaring in fury.

The sun sinks in the west, and the river flows east. Who can say how many autumns have passed, from ancient times to the present? The distant mountains on every side resemble brows long furrowed in sorrow. Who knows why they seem troubled all day long?

How are those who bustle about from place to place any different from those who bear heavy loads and travel by carriage? Coming and going, all follow the same road in the end. How much better to be like me, wanting nothing, sitting at ease to one side, with clouds and water drifting around my robes.

People say that fishing can reveal what lies beneath the water’s surface; the meaning behind this is profound. I do not wish to harm my nature by seeking to know fortune and misfortune, nor do I want to stir my thoughts without cause. I only hope the fish will take the hook.

Since ancient times, wasteland has often spread around old capitals, while crows wheel among towering trees. Crumbling walls and collapsed houses have become fields for people to cultivate; half of them once belonged to the ministers of a former dynasty.

The Phoenix Tower stands desolate in the autumn air, while the great river beneath the bridge rushes toward the sea. For thousands of years, this place was a thriving old capital and marketplace. How many people have passed through here?

Carriages and horses cross paths without pause. Those departing seem to chase after something; those arriving seem eager to get ahead. Surely, people are busy at heart either in pursuit of profit or in pursuit of fame.

The trees veiled in mist blend into the autumn colors, while houses stand ever beside the sound of flowing water. Traveling geese fly off in slanting lines, and a cluster of towers rises high, as if jutting into the sky.

The emerald-green Luo River flows slowly into the distance, meeting the blue sky; the level plain stretches all the way to the distant mountains. The white-haired old man has nothing on his mind. He leans at ease against the railing and gazes out over the Luo River.

Last year, the man leaning on the railing was on the bridge; this year, he has ridden on horseback to its side. Countless people have come and gone on and around the bridge. Now I remember only that I have spent thirteen springs here.

The grass along the riverbank grows lush and green, while travelers come and go along the paths through the fields. The Luo River is so clear it seems capable of washing everything clean, yet in the end it can never be entirely pure. The spring breeze stirs the willow branches, which will not keep still.

No matter how swift the current, the depths of the water remain calm. Though blossoms fall again and again, the heart remains at ease. Unlike the busy people of the world, who grow old in the blink of an eye and never once truly let themselves smile.

I sit idly by the stream, too lazy to open my eyes. The waves rush toward the long embankment, as if they might sweep it away. How brightly colored the waterfowl’s feathers are! They fly off and return, coming and going without end.

Since ancient times, fame and profit have depended on each person’s abilities; travelers on the road need not torment themselves with doubts about them. How long do the sun and moon endure in the world within the pot? I simply stroll at leisure by Tianjin Bridge, watching people come and go.

The land slopes generally toward the southeast. When will the waters finally settle and grow calm? Tianjin Bridge stands squarely amid the rushing current, where the water’s depth and force are unfathomable and its sound unending.

The borderlands three thousand li away are called the “Wilderness March” (an ancient term for distant frontier regions); for nearly a century, they have been praised as peaceful. How could they compare with this carefree guest, dwelling at ease beside the Luo River? Must one be granted territory and a fief to count as honored?

Willows along the riverbank sway gently in the breeze. Across the water, towers and pavilions lie veiled in fine rain. After the Double Ninth Festival, the wine has left me pleasantly tipsy; the feeling of this very moment is even more serene and unending.

Dwelling in a quiet place, I observe the affairs of the world; opening my heart, I cultivate my nature in ease. Once the storms in the mind have subsided and the heart is as calm as still water, what in this world cannot be faced with composure?

Since the Sui and Tang dynasties, the powerful and high-ranking have been treated with great reverence. In recent times, people have again busied themselves amid the storms of fame and profit. Tell me, flowing water beneath Tianjin Bridge: what sound did you make when you rushed by in those turbulent days?

The noble ministers and high officials of the former dynasty are now remembered by their descendants only by name. Only the waters beneath Tianjin Bridge have made the same sound from ancient times to the present.

Not a wisp of cloud veils the bright moon in the sky. The long, lofty bridge lies across the clear, rippling water. Such a scene must be rare in the human world; how stirring it must be to face the full moon on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

In the city of Jiaru, I met with friends who shared my interests; beneath Phoenix Tower, we celebrated the Mid-Autumn Festival together. The wine cups have been drained, and everyone has gone. Moonlight still shimmers together with the play of light on the waves.

Only after understanding life can one speak of everyday affairs; only after knowing one’s nature can one discuss important plans for governing the realm. This great river flows without pause, day and night. Who, exactly, drives it onward toward the east?

Song of Sincerity and Understanding

Confucius was born with a thorough understanding of things; he did not attain it through later study. Although Mencius had awakened early, he still needed to cultivate himself. Sincerity and understanding—genuineness and clarity—are qualities we inherently possess, yet people today are always eager to seek them outside themselves.

Song of the Plumb Line and Water

Water can make things level, but cannot make them straight; a plumb line can make things straight, but cannot make them level. If the plumb line and water could be used together, what in the world would remain difficult to discern?

Song of Heartache

Heartache is not one of the five flavors in its proper measure. How, then, can the Shang and Zhi tones be called true notes? People throughout the world still cannot distinguish crookedness from straightness. Whom, then, should they appoint to set things right and bring human hearts to balance?

Song of Speech and Silence

To speak when one should be silent turns words into filth; to remain silent when one should speak turns silence into dust. If, whether it is time to speak or to be silent, one clings to neither course, how could dust and filth cling to the body?

Notes from a Life of Leisure

The slightest trace of my natural innocence remains wholly undiminished, yet it is hard to secure a generous stipend. In peaceful times, I find no other troubles to weigh on me, and often enjoy three or five cups of wine.

The dampness of rain slowly gathers among the bamboo, bringing a coolness with it. I wake beneath the south-facing window and gaze toward the Xiao-Xiang region. Rain drips steadily from the thatched eaves, without end, and I cannot help recalling the time I once spent the night aboard a boat.

The sky has just cleared, and the moon rises between the pines; in midsummer, cool breezes sweep across the water. I already live far more comfortably than many people. And besides, I can often set out wine and enjoy a feast.

In the hall sits my kindly mother, now over eighty; before the steps, my children laugh and call out. I prepare delicious food for my mother, making do with what the household can afford, without worrying whether the fare is lavish or plain. What human pleasure could surpass this?

Days of leisurely gathering are seldom wasted away for more than three at a time; when we drink with abandon, we never go beyond half drunk. When we meet, our minds are free of other concerns. We do not discuss the rise and fall of worldly affairs, but talk together about poetry and literature.

Flowers and trees reveal a different scene with each season; a thousand volumes of the classics are my daily companions. If anyone asks where I live, it is the first house on Daode Lane.

Cooling Off in the Small Pavilion of Tiangong

I climb the tall pavilion and gaze out over Luoyang. Clouds and mist drift across the plain, surrounding the capital with their shifting forms. The wind comes from Mount Wansui, bringing the mountain’s haze and clouds along to cool the air.

This small pavilion is a great comfort to me. Nowhere in Luoyang can match its coolness. Though I am ashamed of my shallow virtue, I am fortunate to enjoy this refreshment; my robe and sleeves are forever filled with winds from a thousand miles away.

The pavilion’s cool breeze is truly not something one can enjoy just anywhere. The feeling here is as though I had returned to the simple, carefree age of Emperor Xi Huang, the legendary ancient ruler Fuxi. An unnamed guest in Luoyang has enjoyed this coolness for twenty years.

The small pavilion of Tiangong is quiet and spacious. I am truly fortunate: my robe and sleeves are forever filled with winds from a thousand miles away.

The pavilion’s cool breeze is truly not something one can enjoy just anywhere. The feeling here is as though I had returned to the simple, carefree age of Emperor Xi Huang. An unnamed guest in Luoyang has enjoyed this coolness for twenty years.

Notes from Seclusion at Tiangong

People often complain that Tianjin Bridge is too far away; to come here, one must make a special trip. In my leisure, I have come to understand the way of peace and ease. After living quietly for a long while, my spirit has gradually grown more open.

To grasp the Book of Changes is like watching a game of chess; when discussing poetry and literature, I turn a wine cup in my hand. The ways of the world shift and change in countless forms, but I do not let them enter my heart.

A Visit to Longmen

River and sky are indistinguishable; quiet birds fly down to the sunlit sandbanks. The road turns with the mountains, as if it has reached its end; the river winds back, and the ferry crossing angles off to one side.

The cliffs are full of spacious caves and shrines carved into the rock, with only two or three shops nearby. The scenery is serene and lovely in every season, and the city is not far away.

A Return Visit to the Luo River

Buy a rock, and you can own the clouds along with it; buy a mountain, and choose one near the water. Clouds may come of their own accord; water can lie still like a mirror, reflecting all things clearly.

Human nature becomes clear through freedom from intent; feelings, for their part, should settle like still water in a mirror. Neither can be dispensed with. To abandon one side is to fall into the excess of the other.

Watching Fish by the River

On an autumn day, the sky is cool and clear, the river stretches far, and the fish swim freely. Who could know that they can evade the fishing nets yet still fear swallowing a hook?

I had long since given up the thought of calling on people to seek their favor, and no longer fretted over setbacks in public life, like a carp that fails to leap the Dragon Gate. So I recalled the pleasure Zhuangzi took in watching fish from the Hao River bridge: a mind open and far-reaching, just like Zhuang Zhou’s.

In the renyin year of Jiayou (the seventh year of Jiayou, 1062 CE), construction of my new residence had just begun. The estate stood in Daode Ward, even closer to the imperial palace.

From the balustrade, one could look up at the lofty Duan Gate; the windows faced the imposing paired towers. Through the open, airy windows came the sounds of the Chan and Jian rivers. From the high terrace, the Yi River and Mount Song lay bright in the distance.

Such fine scenery is especially rare, and how seldom does one encounter an age of peace and prosperity? I lack the ability to help bring order to the world, so I can only be content with my station and enjoy a life of abundant harvests.

Water and bamboo surround the residence, as if embracing its very heart; where orioles sing and flowers bloom lies the deep retreat where birds and beasts gather. Like Lao Laizi, I find endless joy in entertaining my parents; like Tao Yuanming, I keep to a calm and quiet life, with no end to the integrity of my reclusive ways.

I wander at ease with those who truly share my interests; the affairs I attend to are those of Lord He. I have poured out my sincere feelings in vain, with no way to repay this profound kindness.

A Song for the New Year

I am often ill, my body grown frail, and now I am fifty-two. Yet at the New Year, I can still raise a cup and drink with others. Mencius spoke of “fulfilling one’s form,” meaning that people should fully realize the goodness they are born with; I often use this to encourage myself. Yan Hui was content in poverty and joyful within, but I am far from his example.

Swallows fly away and return, leaving me with needless sorrow; flowers bloom and fade, as though they vainly hurry time along. My heart does not rise and fall with another’s success or failure. For twenty years, my state of mind has been as cold and still as ashes.

A Song on Having a Guest

By the Yi River and Mount Song lives a recluse who wishes to keep silent. In life, whether advancing or retreating, one has always left things to Heaven’s arrangements. He cherishes stillness, yet cannot give up the beauty of mountains and streams. He takes pleasure in a quiet life, but not because he hopes to become an immortal.

There is no need to lament that I cannot establish myself in the capital’s official world. I should instead be glad that the clear breeze costs nothing to enjoy. When it is necessary, I yield for a time in order to fulfill a greater aim—why worry over such choices? My heart is broad; I do not demand perfection in everything.

Spring at the Little Garden

The pavilions and railings in my little garden, too, take on a touch of brightness with the coming of spring. I may as well sit at leisure beside the wine shop. At night, moonlight quietly enters the flower beds; by day, mist drifts beyond the bamboo grove, bringing waves of chill.

Only after seeing things clearly do I realize that many of life’s turns are merely chance. If Heaven has left me to a quiet life, can that be without reason? How long, after all, do the sun and moon last in the pot—the Daoist realm of immortals, a figure for a life of leisure and freedom? I relish the scenery before me, as though I had already spent twelve years here.

A Song for Late Spring

Spring arrives in the little garden, and flowers compete to bloom. Who says a poor household cannot possess the splendor of a wealthy estate? Outside the gate, the willow’s deep shade glistens green; before the steps, shifting flower shadows cast a rosy glow.

The new swallows beneath the roof beams have not yet learned to call, while wild geese returning from the horizon are already lined up in flight. I ask myself what fills my heart. It answers: a relaxed and indolent ease, with pleasures that stretch on without end.

Cherishing the Blossoms

When I count carefully, among the ten thousand affairs of this human world, none compares with laughing freely beneath the flowers. Most spring blossoms bloom for only a single season; even at their height, they last no more than ten days or so.

I worry, too, that sorrow may disturb the pleasure of admiring the flowers, and fear even more that wind and rain may get in the way. Do not let this occasion for enjoying the blossoms become a regret in years to come. While I can still hold a torch before the flowers beside the wine cup, I may as well admire them to my heart’s content.

Reply to Someone Who Sent Me a Poem

As my hair gradually turns white, there is no need to worry: I still have the qin and books to entrust my thoughts to, and they are enough to keep me company through the days. I must only remain wary of the hardships brought by wind and rain. Let no regret be left for the future. While there is still time, why not bring some wine and gather by the wine vessel?

Reply to Someone Who Sent Me a Poem

There is no need to grieve as my hair gradually turns white; I still have my qin and books to entrust my thoughts to. Since I have no outstanding talent with which to assist a peaceful age, I would rather lie back on a high pillow and spend my days at ease beneath the southern window.

I know my strength can no longer be forced to carry me on, yet I still say I have not retired to the cloud-wreathed mountains. Thank you, old friend, for holding me in such affection. Thanks to you, I, like the “fish in a wagon rut” (a fish trapped in shallow water), have fortunately not perished in the West River.

Playing with the Brush

I am fifty-two this year. As I grow older, what is there to worry about? In action, what matters is seeing through to the root; in conversation, it is hard to reach the end.

Above us is a sagely and enlightened emperor; below, capable lords. Apart from eating my fill and sleeping well, I have no other ambitions.

Asking Someone for Wine

My old bones are beset by every kind of illness. Now, with my hair white, I am ashamed to have let the years slip by in delay. Though no imperial decree summons me swiftly back to court, I often see the green mountains in my dreams.

Who rules the wind and moon that fill the sky? Across the land, with its mountains, forests, and springs, can there truly be no one who might retire there? The wine bought in the marketplace is hard to find mellow; I always feel I have betrayed the springtime within my breast.

Reply to a Guest

The people I know in this world are too many to count, but though many know me, not many truly understand me. Many value me entirely because of the Dao—that is, Daoist cultivation and its teachings—while they know only the shallower side of me through my poetry.

There is no need to ask about the rise and fall of fortunes over a hundred years; past and present are both like a game of chess. When traveling by horse, one naturally chooses a fine steed. But what should one do before the swift horse arrives?

Awakened by Someone’s Words

The more one thinks, the clumsier one’s plans become; a single sentence, though, can instantly dispel confusion. Nothing in the world is so terribly difficult; under heaven, outstanding people will always be found.

I worry only that it may be hard to meet someone who understands me; I do not worry that the Way cannot be made clear. Once suspicion is thoroughly cast aside, why remain trapped by the troubles of the dusty world?

Thanks to Someone for a Gifted Brush

Thank you for taking the trouble to send this precious brush from afar. Its tip, made of rabbit hair, is firm and strong; its shaft, made of bamboo, is straight and slender.

I can use it to quietly copy out newly written poems, and in spare moments to copy old prescriptions. I have no other use for it; having it at hand is already enough to sharpen my brushwork and build my skill.

The workings of Heaven and Earth follow fixed patterns, and nothing can obscure the radiance of the sun and moon. Beyond eating one’s fill and sleeping in peace, many of the things people pursue in this world amount to empty reputation.

Even without the talents of Yi Yin or Lü Shang, one can still live as an ordinary person in the age of Yao and Shun. Why must one hold the office of prime minister to write poems and sing of peace?

Twin-Headed Lotus

Those beautiful sisters of the Han dynasty were like two ethereal immortals on Mount Tiantai. They once enjoyed the pleasures and splendors of life, then were banished to the human world and transformed into a paired lotus, an auspicious sign.

Reply to Someone on the Meaning of a Letter

Confucius spoke of rectifying human nature; Mencius spoke of practicing it and bringing it fully to light. If one can understand and live by both teachings, life has probably not been wasted.

When association is guided by the Dao and mutual understanding springs from sincerity, nothing can overcome such people, even with three armies arrayed before them.

Reply to Someone on the Words in a Letter

Without an official position, it is difficult to accomplish great things; when the right moment comes, establishing merit is easy. Seeking perfection in every matter invites criticism, while recommending people for important posts requires tolerance for some shortcomings.

If one hesitates to remove someone at fault for fear of hurting personal ties, hidden trouble may remain. If one keeps the person, one may worry about compromising what is right. Kindness without the judgment to act appropriately cannot truly be put into practice.

Reply to Someone

The annual stipend of a high minister equals what a poor scholar might spend over a lifetime. Official rank, of course, has its degrees—but has the “Heavenly Nobility” earned through virtue, one’s inner moral standing, ever been lacking?

Without frost and snow, how would we know the resilience of pine and cassia? Even without office, one can stand firm and hold oneself in esteem. Does one need an official title to show nobility, when it is virtue that makes a person noble?

Talking Over Old Times with Someone

Let me speak of the changes over these past thirty years, things I have heard and seen. In just ten leap years, a whole generation has passed from the world.

In fallen families, the wealthy sons of former days are gone; behind the vermilion gates of grand mansions, new people now come and go in their carriages. Since ancient times, human affairs have changed through many chance turns. What, then, can truly be called an achievement?

Casual Verses

Now and then I take up my brush, often savoring the pleasures of my own nature. How could I face a scene without feeling something? Even when I do not deliberately express it, that feeling has not been forgotten.

Verses often come drifting in unbidden, and poems take shape through chance inspiration. The workings of Heaven—the subtle meaning that arises naturally and cannot be put into words—are hard to depict, yet the heart knows them well.

Verses While Sitting at Ease

In my youth, I once planned out my whole life, but now things have proved hard to arrange as I wished. Heaven’s mandate did not favor me, so I have no choice but to find contentment among the cloud-wreathed mountains.

For reasons I cannot explain, I was born indifferent to worldly concerns, and so was able to enter the “Rarefied and Elusive”—the subtle realm Daoists describe as beyond sight and sound. Now I would mock the “True Ruler” who governs all things, but it would likely be futile. In the end, I cannot fathom it.

A Song While Sitting at Ease

In my youth, I once planned out my whole life, but now things have proved hard to arrange as I wished. Heaven’s mandate did not favor me, so I have no choice but to find contentment among the cloud-wreathed mountains.

For reasons I cannot explain, I was born indifferent to worldly concerns, and so was able to enter the “Rarefied and Elusive,” the subtle realm Daoists describe as beyond sight and sound. Now I would mock the “True Ruler” who governs all things, but it would likely be futile. In the end, I cannot understand it.

A Leisurely Stroll in Tianjin

The former imperial capital still displays an air of prosperity. Gardens border the water, while palace halls and towers stretch across the autumn landscape in the distance.

Waves churn like snow, though the summer heat has yet to fade. A bridge arches across the water like a rainbow, and the clear day’s beauty lingers. Leisure without worldly cares is rare; this is just the place to linger.

A Secluded Home in Tianjin

I lodge in Luoyang, in the Tianjin area. Here the sun seems near and dawn comes early; the sky hangs low, and the feel of spring is easy to sense.

Time has made this capital region more beautiful, and its scenery is generous to me, a recluse. I can readily leave office and wealth behind, and spend the rest of my life in quiet ease.

The Sound of Water in Tianjin

The Luo River flows near my home, its murmuring reaching my pillow. After deep autumn, the sound of the rushing current is startling; in the fifth watch, the waves surge especially fast.

Listening closely, I feel a light breeze at my back. After rain, the current swells suddenly, and its sound grows clearer. A recluse can find such pleasures here. Why must I listen to flutes and zithers?

Sleepless

As I sit at ease, night grows late. I think of going to bed, yet the night still seems long. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep, I find myself recalling the past.

With my head on the pillow, my thoughts grow hazy; wrapped tightly in my clothes and bedding, I remain restless and clear-headed. Moonlight enters through the western window, casting the shadows of a few banana leaves.

The Small Pavilion at the Celestial Palace

In summer I come to the Celestial Palace and lean on the railing, gazing out at a view without end. The ancients had far-reaching vision, and the emperor’s founding of a capital here was grand in scale.

Towers and palace halls lie hidden among deep clouds; mountains and rivers are veiled in the evening haze. Travelers come and go. Who could understand what I feel at this moment?

Listening to the Zither

The zither is best heard at night; building a small pavilion apart gives the occasion its own special charm. Just as I think the mournful cries of the gibbons have faded, I hear a sound like the phoenix taking flight.

The green mountains stretch endlessly in their beauty; there is no need to be alarmed when one’s hair turns white. Only by grasping the meaning of “sitting in forgetfulness” (zuowang, a Daoist practice of quiet sitting in which one forgets body, mind, and the things around one) can we understand the ancient, unspoiled state of natural simplicity.

At dusk in Tianjin, the clouds are light and the sunlight clear; the wind is brisk, and the woods grow sparse. Autumn has come to the Luo River. I walk alone and chant poems alone, with no one who understands what I feel. Now and then, gulls and egrets alight on the sandbars by the water.

So many affairs of favor and disgrace have vanished from sight. The rise and fall of dynasties brings only sorrow. Look at the roads of Chang’an today: even at dusk, travelers still come and go.

Deep within Phoenix Tower, clouds and mist seal everything away; once they close in, it seems another hundred years have passed. After the sacrifice at Fenyin, it is painful to think that the emperor’s carriage left this landscape of Shangyang Palace behind.

Who summoned the Yellow River to cut through Luoyang? The imperial carriage moved east, and reaching this place was easy enough. The surging floodwaters will not be restrained by Tianjin Bridge; night and day they race onward, roaring as if in anger.

The sun sinks westward, and the river flows east. Across past and present, time moves on—who knows how many autumns have passed? On every side, distant mountains draw in their blue-green brows as if in sorrow. Whom have they been grieving for all day long?

How are those who hurry about, bearing the weight of gain and loss, any different? Coming and going, they all follow the same road in the end. How much better to be as I am: without talent or use, sitting at ease in a quiet place, with clouds and water drifting around my robes.

People say that fishing lets you discern what sinks and what floats. Look closely, and this “discerning what sinks and floats” conceals a deeper purpose. I am ashamed to damage my inborn nature merely to pry into gain and danger; yet in my idle thoughts, I still hope the fish will take the hook.

Since ancient times, old capitals have had many open plots, where crows wheel among towering trees. People now cultivate the ground beside ruined walls and earthen ramparts; once, half of it belonged to the mansions of ministers from the former dynasty.

The Phoenix Tower stands cold and still amid autumn colors, while the great river beneath its bridge rushes toward the sea. For thousands of years, this place has been an old capital and a thriving marketplace. How many people have passed through it?

Carriages and horses weave back and forth without pause. Those departing seem to hurry after something; those arriving seem to race ahead. Surely their hearts hold only one of two concerns: profit or fame.

Trees veiled in mist blend into the colors of autumn, and homes by the river are ever accompanied by the sound of flowing water. Lines of traveling geese fly slantwise across the sky; a cluster of towers rises high, as if poised in the air.

Clear water flows on, meeting the blue horizon; level fields stretch toward distant mountains. With nothing weighing on his mind, an old man with white hair leans leisurely against the railing and watches the Luo River flow.

Last year, that man leaned against the bridge railing and gazed into the distance; this year, he has ridden his horse to the bridge. The bridge is broad and level, and wild grasses stretch all the way to the distant mountains. Now an old man with a head of white hair, free of cares, leans leisurely against the railing and watches the Luo River.

The man who leaned on the bridge railing last year has come to the bridge this year. How many times have I crossed the bridge or walked beside it? I can no longer remember. By now, I recall only that spring has come around like this for thirteen years.

The grass grows thick along the banks, and travelers come and go along the road. The green water would like to run clear, but never quite does; the spring breeze has not stilled the willow branches, which continue to sway in the wind.

No matter how swiftly the water flows, the mind can remain calm; though flowers fall again and again, the heart stays at ease. This is unlike people in the world, who grow old amid constant busyness and never truly find joy in their lives.

I sit idly by the stream, too lazy to open my eyes. The waves rush toward the long embankment, as if they might wash it away. Brightly feathered water birds fly off and return, making several trips back and forth.

Since ancient times, people have sought fame and profit according to their own abilities; there is no need for travelers on the road to fret and speculate about them. How long does the sun and moon in a pot last—that Daoist image of another world within the pot, where time stretches on? I stroll at ease across Tianjin Bridge in Luoyang, watching people come and go.

The land slopes toward the southeast. When will the waters at last grow calm and still? Tianjin Bridge happens to stand amid a swift current, where the water’s sound rises and falls without a break.

Lands three thousand li away are called the “wilderness marches,” the distant frontier regions of ancient times; for a hundred years, they have been proclaimed peaceful. What could be better than my own carefree idleness beside the Luo River? Why must one possess a fief to be considered honored?

Willows along the embankment sway gently in the breeze; across the water, pavilions and terraces appear faintly through the drizzle. After the Double Ninth Festival, with wine just beginning to warm the spirit, the pleasure of this moment seems boundless.

In a quiet place, I observe a scene of peace. What could be better than my own carefree idleness beside the Luo River? Why must one possess a fief to be considered honored?

From a place of stillness, I observe the affairs of the world. At ease, I open my heart and discern the nature of all things. Let the waves gradually subside and the water’s surface grow calm—what in the world, then, could not be brought to order?

Since the Sui and Tang dynasties, those raised to high rank have mostly been ministers and nobles; in recent times, people have again been swept into the turmoil of fame and profit. Tell me, what sound did the water beneath Tianjin Bridge make when it once surged by in a torrent?

The former dynasties had countless eminent ministers and nobles, yet later generations can remember them only by name. Only the water beneath Tianjin Bridge has sounded the same from ancient times to the present.

Not a cloud in the sky veils the bright moon, and a long bridge lies across the clear, shimmering water. Surely there is no lovelier scene in all the human world. What a mood the Mid-Autumn Festival moon must inspire!

In the city of Jiaryu, an old name for the Luoyang region, friends who share the same aspirations gather beneath Phoenix Tower to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival. Their cups are drained and the company disperses, yet moonlight and rippling reflections still shine together, as if competing without end.

Only when people understand the principles of life can they speak of everyday affairs; only when they understand their nature are they fit to discuss grand plans. This long river before us flows on, day and night—but who sets it moving eastward without cease?

Song on Sincerity and Understanding

Confucius was born understanding the Way; he did not acquire it through later study. Mencius claimed to have awakened to it early, yet still had to cultivate himself. Sincerity and understanding—the virtue of being genuine and clear-sighted—are inherent in us. But people today are always seeking them outside themselves.

Song on the Plumb Line and Water

Water is good at leveling things, but it cannot make them straight. Only the plumb line can correct a straight line, but it cannot determine what is level. If we combine the work of the plumb line and the water, what in the world could remain difficult to discern?

Song of Heartache

The bitterness in the heart is not the true sour taste among the Five Flavors. And how could Shang and Zhi, two notes in the ancient five-tone scale, stand for the proper pitch? People in the world cannot distinguish crookedness from straightness. Who, then, can uphold justice and set people’s hearts right?

Song on Speaking and Silence

If you insist on speaking when you should be silent, your words become filth. If you keep silent when you should speak, your silence becomes dust. When speech and silence are both fitting, how can dust and filth cling to you?

Reflections on a Quiet Life

The slightest trace of my natural innocence within remains undiminished, yet an income of a thousand measures of grain is not easily won. In peaceful times, I count myself fortunate to have no other troubles; when there is wine, I enjoy a few cups every so often.

Rain drifting through the bamboo grove brings a natural coolness. I wake from a nap by the south window and gaze toward Xiaoxiang, the landscapes of the Hunan region. Beneath the thatched eaves, raindrops fall without pause, bringing back memories of nights spent aboard a boat.

After the rain, the sky clears and the moon rises between the pines; in high summer, a breeze comes across the water. I have already enjoyed more blessings than many people. How much more fortunate I am to be able to raise a cup from time to time!

In the main hall sits my kind parent, now over eighty; before the steps, my children laugh and call out. If I can offer food to their liking, whether abundant or simple, I am content. What joy in this world could surpass such a life?

Refined gatherings rarely last more than three days, and even when we drink freely, we never drink past the point of slight inebriation. When we meet, there is nothing else on our minds to discuss. We do not debate the rise and fall of worldly affairs; we speak only of essays and poetry.

Flowers and trees take on different aspects with each season. Reading a thousand volumes of the classics is my daily life. If anyone asks where I live in retirement, tell them I am in the foremost house on Daode Lane.

Cooling Off in the Small Pavilion at Tiangong

Climbing to the high pavilion, I lean on the railing and gaze into the distance toward Luoyang. Clouds and vapor fill the plain, surrounding the capital with their shifting scenery. The wind blows from Wansui Mountain, and mists and mountain haze gather here in the coolness.

This little pavilion has been a great blessing to me. Nowhere in Luoyang can match its coolness. I know my talent and virtue are slight, yet I am fortunate to live here; my collar and sleeves are often touched by breezes from ten thousand miles away.

Can the breeze in this pavilion be received so easily? Its charm is like a return to the simple, unhurried age of the legendary emperor Fuxi. In Luoyang there is a guest whose name no one knows, who has enjoyed the coolness here for twenty years.

Notes from Seclusion at Tiangong

People complain that Tianjin, the ferry crossing near Luoyang, is far away, yet when they come here they make the journey especially. In my leisure, I understand how worldly affairs can reach a state of ease and peace; after a long time living quietly, I feel my spirit grow clear and open.

The principles of the Book of Changes can be grasped through watching a game of chess; when discussing poetry and prose, I turn a wine cup between my fingers. I take no notice of the countless changes in human affairs.

A Visit to Longmen

There is no distinction between river and sky; a solitary bird comes to rest on the sunlit sand. The road stretches on as the mountains gradually fall away; the river bends, and the ferry landing slants off to one side.

Among the rocky cliffs are thousands upon thousands of Buddhist grottoes and shrines, with only two or three inns nearby. The scenery is lovely in every season, and the capital is not far away.

Visiting the Luo River Again

Buy a stone, and you may also gain the clouds around it; if you would buy a mountain, seek one that comes with water. Clouds come of their own accord, allowing one to grasp the meaning of Wuwei (non-action); water reflects all things and, when still, becomes a mirror.

The human nature should be clarified through a mind free of intention; thoughts and feelings, by taking stillness as their mirror, should likewise come to rest. Neither can be lacking. When this is achieved, one can transcend the dust of the world and enter a realm of quiet purity.

Watching Fish by the River

The weather is cold, autumn lies deep, the river stretches on, and fish are swimming. Who knows whether they can evade the nets, yet still fears they might swallow a hook by mistake?

The fish have given up the thought of seeking favors at someone’s door, and feel no anxiety about failing to leap over the Dragon Gate. This makes me think: one should leave that shore and enter this one.

Watching Fish by the River

The weather is cold, autumn lies deep, the river stretches on, and fish are swimming. Who knows whether they can evade the nets, yet still fears they might swallow a hook by mistake?

I had long since given up the thought of calling on influential people in pursuit of fame and success, and I never worried over gains or losses in official life. I was reminded of Zhuangzi’s pleasure in watching fish by the Hao River: my mind felt open and far-reaching, much like Zhuang Zhou’s.

The bonds among good friends are deep, and they have been meeting and spending time together for a long while. Living amid clouds and waters, they feel at ease and unhurried, with a spirit of leisure that lingers. Only now do I understand the deeper meaning of Tao Yuanming’s poem: the window of the home where he once lived seems to carry us back to the simple, ancient age represented by Fuxi.

A Long Poem on Watching a Game of Go

The courtyard is quiet, spring is in full bloom, and the doors remain shut even in daylight. Through the bamboo grove, I watch my guests play Go at ease. The players gather uncanny, spirit-like strategies in their minds, then bring the contours of mountains and rivers into the small square of the board.

As the game closes in, the two sides array themselves like dragons and serpents locked in combat. When a ko fight ends, the stones scatter like wild geese driven from their course, flying apart. After many captures, it is as though Xiang Yu had buried the Qin troops alive; in a crushing defeat, it is like Fu Jian facing the Jin army in terror.

At the table, blades and spears seem to clash; before the board, the situation shifts in an instant, like ice turning to fire. Both sides’ survival hangs in the balance, and victory or defeat often rests on a single move.

At a crucial point, neither side will yield easily; facing an opponent, one must also pretend to decline for the moment. A wound to the heart of one’s position is truly frightening, but when trouble befalls an ally on whom one depends, there is still a way to make amends.

Some treat secretly harming others as a sound strategy, and call cunning and deceit an understanding of the moment. Look at what happens today on the roads of Chang’an. Could such things really cease to happen simply by changing the place?

Two Poems on Climbing Chongde Pavilion in Autumn

How many outstanding and worthy people have seen their ambitions go unfulfilled? Climbing high to gaze into the distance need not make us heave a long sigh. For thousands of years, mountains and rivers have endured countless wars; a hundred years later, all that remains are scattered caps and swords.

People vainly take it upon themselves to build merit and establish a name, not knowing that wealth and honor are hardly things human effort can arrange. A painter can render the sights of the world with exquisite skill, yet cannot paint the feelings that arise while leaning on a railing and gazing afar.

For a hundred years, people have called the times peaceful; yet many troubles from the past were never properly settled. The capital still bears the aspect of the Han and Tang eras, and its palaces still show the splendor of former emperors.

Beyond the mist, the mountains appear faintly; after the frost, the red trees are already half bare. Though there is wine in the cup, it is hard to become drunk; in an instant, the autumn wind blows me sober again.

Returning Late After Drinking on an Autumn Day

The bamboo groves and gardens beside the autumn waters are so lovely—how could one bear to drain the fine wine in a single draught? The Double Ninth Festival has passed, and the chrysanthemums have only just begun to bloom. A person of deep feeling does not grow old in haste, as time does.

The sky remains dark and overcast, and the willow branches droop. A light breeze carries a hint of chill, and dusk comes earlier than usual. My heart’s exuberance knows no bounds and is hard to restrain; I let my horse’s hooves tread slowly through the green grass beside the capital’s streets.

Sent to the Secretariat Gentleman Zu Zexi, Governor of Shanzhou

Do you remember when we met? We were both in the lands east of the sea then. Now a thousand miles separate us, and in the blink of an eye ten years have passed.

The paths we have taken differ, as do our reputations; yet our thoughts are in accord, and our ages are closer than ever. I hope that one day we will meet again, drink wine, compose poems, and talk to our hearts’ content.

Mourning Zhang Yuanbo, Director of Military Affairs

In recent years, one elder after another has passed away, bringing sorrow to my heart once more. Among those in Luoyang’s poetry circle who resigned from office and live quietly in retirement, only you were so pure and lofty, like an immortal.

Once we debated who was older and who younger; now we must argue over who will be the first to die. I raise a cup and pour the wine onto the ground to honor you—you must surely know. In the west wind, I weep for you.

Mourning the Senior Official Zhang Shirou

All your life you aspired to achieve great things. Who could have imagined that your talent would be unable to overcome fate? The farewell poem you left behind reveals your refined spirit; now you have been laid in your coffin, and there will never again be a chance for us to share our feelings freely.

Your insight into the affairs of the age can no longer be put to use; the talented people of the realm will never again have the chance to hear your judgments. If your spirit is aware, then rest easy: your descendants have great promise and may restore the family’s good name.

In Reply to Assistant Magistrate Pei Hanyi of Dengfeng, Who Sent Me a Poem on Climbing the Mountain · Zhìpíng Year Three (1066)

Everyone knows that Yan Hui lived in a humble lane, getting by on a basket of rice and a gourd of water. What am I, then? Should I be ashamed of living in poverty? Since I understand that wealth and rank are determined by fate, there is no need to ask why my official career rises or falls as it does.

Quiet and silence help cultivate a nature suited to retreat in the mountains and fields. I long to rise to prominence, but have no way to learn from those who have prospered in this age. Those who pass in and out of the palace gates, immersed in its splendor, must surely laugh at me, the old man by the stream, who knows only how to work the stony fields—the barren land.

A Song on “Why?” · Sent to Chancellor Fu of Sancheng

Why make people ponder so anxiously? To rise a little above the dust of the world, one must sit and reflect. In your work, build up your strength as though drawing a bow that can bear a thousand jun; in refining yourself, temper and forge yourself again and again, like metal tested a hundred times.

You once mistook the river as a means to wield the power of life and death. Even while playing chess, you found yourself slipping into the desire to win. Now you take pleasure in a fine cup of wine, sometimes pouring one for yourself beneath the trees. That, too, is a way to console yourself.

Written on a Friend’s Behalf

In those days I was full of ambition and wanted to surpass everyone in the world. When I read the classics of earlier generations, I even laughed at Xie An, the famous figure of the Eastern Jin who stayed composed in a moment of crisis. Who could have guessed that I would now be content to grow old here, yet still have no quiet, pleasant place to settle?

At chess, a worthy game requires an evenly matched opponent; otherwise, there is no point in making a move. If there is no kindred spirit to hear the qin, I do not wish to play. I did not withdraw into silence merely because my abilities were insufficient. The worthy people of antiquity, too, often lamented how hard it was to find the right moment to put their ambitions into practice.

Visiting Assistant Director Yao Fuzhou’s Western Garden at Yuebei

My longing was hard to contain, so I took this chance to come visit from West Street. Water channels crisscross the garden, while winding paths pass between rows of vegetables.

The branches hung low, so I ducked beneath them. My bamboo staff, carried for the journey, was too tall, and I had to shift it to the other hand. What could be more joyful than friends who are so well matched in spirit?

Replying in the Rhymes of the Three Gentlemen Liu, Li, and Pei of Dengfeng, Who Invited Me to Tour the Mountains

Several friends invited me to explore the foothills of Mount Song, and I have written another new poem, matching the rhymes of your verses. I would not dare fall behind you in the pleasure of leaving worldly cares behind; but when it comes to seeking out cloud-wreathed waters and scenic places, I have already lost the race.

Near Sanyang Palace lie deep, strange rocks; Ten-Thousand-Year Peak soars into the clouds, shrouded in purple haze. I have yet to visit many of these beautiful places. I hope to join you in following the paths once trodden by immortals, climbing the mountain and exploring together.

Climbing to the Summit of Mount Song

The lands of the Nine Provinces lie all around, like a chessboard. From Ten-Thousand-Year Peak on Mount Song, the view seems tranquil and at peace. If someone within the Four Seas could unite and govern all under Heaven, why would the Central Plain still need to suffer strife?

I am often troubled to see ruthless men gain power. I can only hope to be a commoner living in the age of Yao and Shun. In fifty-three years, so much has been left undone; now, at last, I am glad to see the spring plowing.

Viewing Lesser Room Mountain from the County Office at Dengfeng

When Heaven and Earth first opened and took shape, this mountain already towered into the clouds. Its clustered peaks resemble banners in a ceremonial procession; its ranks of massive rocks stand like swords and halberds.

As soon as the sun rises, the cliffs are tinged with red; after rain, the mist grows an even deeper blue-green. Who can say there are no immortals in these mountains, dwelling here in seclusion for ages?

A Message from the Mountains to the Magistrate of Dengfeng

When I first left the county town, I planned to spend a night in the mountains. Once I arrived, I could not bear to return. If only the yamen had no people’s affairs that needed attending to…

Sent from the Mountains to the Magistrate of Dengfeng

When I had just left Dengfeng County, I still meant to spend the night there. But once I reached the mountains, I could not bring myself to return. If there is no urgent business at the county office, I hope you will bring your tea things and come up into the mountains.

Sent to Zu Zexi, Longtu of Zhengzhou, on My Return to Luoyang

Your kindness to me is as deep as that of a loving parent, engraved in my bones; your friendship is as weighty as a mountain. We have known each other for years. On my way back to Luoyang, I passed through Songyang, a place where I once wandered, and it was as if I had brought back with me the hidden life among the white clouds, among the brambles and vines.

“Brambles and vines” refers to plants of the mountains, often used as an image of reclusive life.

In Reply to Zu Longtu’s Poem

My calling in this life lies among the clouds and mountains. Without them before my eyes, my heart cannot find ease. Even the pleasure of roaming the hills resists the claims of a schedule; the soul in my dreams is unwilling to return to the dusty world.

The joy brought by the mountain mists seems endless, while rank and official robes have never allowed a moment’s peace. Friends among Luoyang’s literary circles have invited me again and again. How often have I truly managed to visit them, even briefly?

“Official robes and carriages” refers to high rank and status; the “Luoyang Society” refers to the city’s circle of literary acquaintances.

On Green Adornment

Once the green adornment is finished, it can be called fine workmanship; when made with great care, it looks just like a real home. But beware of anyone who looks closely with a cool, critical eye: however skillful a puppet show may be, there is no curtain to conceal what lies behind it.

The precise meaning of “green adornment” is unclear. The poem uses the making and viewing of puppetry to reflect on craft and appearance.

Three Poems on Myself

It is hard to find a footing in the world of fame and profit; one should return early to the mountains, springs, and stones. Otherwise, even at fifty, a weakened body may still be caught up in the storms of worldly affairs, unable to rest.

All the scenery of wind and moon is mine to enjoy freely; the clouds and mountains across the land, too, fall within my duties and responsibilities. I dare to speak plainly, without holding back, and to tell others frankly of my lofty ambitions.

I often regret that my nature is dull and that I came to hear the Great Dao so late. I am also ashamed that my talents are too slight to meet the demands of the times. A human life lasts roughly thirty-six thousand days; for twenty thousand of them, my body and mind have remained idle, without purpose.

Written on a Whim

Opinions are divided, with each person arguing differently. Where can one find a true Confucian scholar, learned and principled? The line of proper distinctions and ritual teachings has always been handed down; in this vast Central Plain, can there really be no worthy people?

The ages of emperors, feudal lords, and hegemons may differ, yet the principles carried by ritual, music, poetry, and the classics continue to renew themselves. Look closely at ancient events, and they will illuminate the present. Still, I do not know who can shoulder the great task of governing the state.

“Ordering the strands” refers to governing the country and planning state affairs.

Written on Someone’s Behalf and Sent to Chen Chengbo, Magistrate of Shangluo

You have six months left in your term before your replacement takes over. The Shang Mountains are remote and desolate, and few people there understand medicine. Since you have suffered the loss of your wife, grief may cause your Qi to become stagnant; take particular care of your health during the hot, damp season.

The note “Chengbo mourning his wife” is attached to the original, explaining that Chen Chengbo is grieving the loss of his spouse.

Written on Another’s Behalf to Chen Chengbo, Magistrate of Shangluo

You have about six months left in your post. The area around Shang Mountain is remote and desolate, with almost no renowned physicians. I hear that you have been deeply grieved by your wife’s death. In the days ahead, take care that your Qi does not become constrained and stagnant. The local climate is also hot and damp, conditions that readily bring on illness.

Even the wise and enlightened cannot avoid hardship. Those of virtue and talent know how to face both sorrow and honor. What I say may seem simple, but it is not shallow. I hope these words may offer some insight to a person of outstanding ability.

In the middle month of autumn, in the Dingwei year of Zhiping, I traveled in the regions of the Yi and Luo Rivers. On the evening of the sixth, I left Luoyang through its western gate and spent the night at the Buddhist monastery of Fengqin, where I listened to Daoist Zhang play the qin.

(The Dingwei year of Zhiping was 1067 CE; Shao Yong was then fifty-seven years old.)

At dusk, I drove out from Shangyang. After traveling only a short way, I stopped in a place surrounded by water and clouds. I listened to several more melodies, as though played by an immortal, and then believed that within the gourd there truly are long, unending days and months.

On the seventh, I traveled upstream along the Luo River and spent the night at Yanchiu Manor.

At Yanchiu Manor in the eighth month, the grain was just ripening. For a farming household, a bountiful harvest is the greatest wealth. With a bowl of chicken and millet and a ladle of wine, who would envy the lavish feast of the dukes and nobles, worth ten thousand coins?

On the eighth, I crossed the Luo River and climbed South Mountain to view the Spouting Jade Spring, traveling with the three county officials Zhang, Zhao, and Yin of Shou’an County.

Crossing the Luo River and heading south to view the Spouting Jade Spring, I saw a thousand mountain peaks stretching away in the distance. Among them, a stream like white snow plunges into a cold pool. No one knows how many years it has been flowing.

On the ninth, I climbed Jinscreen Mountain in Shou’an County and spent the night in the county seat.

Mists gather in a mass, and the mountain rises remarkably high. Anyone who comes here naturally feels awe. An unnamed immortal lives on the mountain, leaning at ease beside the cave entrance, while white clouds drift in and out.

Riding westward beside my companions, we came to Die Shi Stream. Cliffs surround it on every side, rising straight into the clouds. The flying spring seems reluctant to let us go. Could it be that I would not wish to return here one day and live in seclusion?

(Die Shi Stream lies five or six li south of Shou’an County.)

On the tenth, I traveled west past Yongji Bridge.

(Yongji was the name of a bridge in the Tang dynasty.)

On the tenth, traveling west past Yongji Bridge, I was repeatedly dampened by the drizzle. The mountain spirit seems full of feeling and understands a traveler’s thoughts; it must fear that we will go all this way without seeing the green mountain scenery.

Two Poems on Passing Yiyang City

During the Warring States period, all six states were weak, yet together they served Qin, exhausting themselves in constant efforts to appease it, while still finding it hard to draw close. How was Qin able to kill so many that nearly half the people under heaven perished? Was there not a single capable person east of the passes?

In former times, Yiyang was known as Han’s secondary capital, an important city beyond the main capital. Yet why was Han so weak? Zhang Liang, whose courtesy name was Zifang and who later assisted Liu Bang, was unable to avenge his grievance with his own hands, so he attacked the emperor’s accompanying carriage at Bolang Sand. [“Unable to avenge his grievance” means that Zhang Liang could not take revenge himself. He once attempted to assassinate Qin Shi Huang at Bolang Sand, but his blow struck the accompanying carriage by mistake.]

On the eleventh day, rain at Fuchang County

Mist drifts slowly across the mountain peaks; the sound of spring water comes from the bamboo grove, seeming slower by a few degrees as well. At this moment, my heart is full of feelings beyond words. Only the kingfisher can understand.

Composed to match the rhyme of a poem sent by the Assistant Magistrate of Shou’an County, who oversees public order and other affairs

I have no wish to toil fruitlessly in the dusty world. It seems I have neither talent nor achievements, and cannot find common ground with the worthy people of this age. I once hoped to fulfill an ambitious purpose, but now nothing has come of it. I would like to dwell among the green mountains; perhaps I am, after all, destined for the forests.

Beneath the deep shade of emerald bamboo, I open a blue-green book; where white clouds gather, I bow to the plunging waterfall. Screen Mountain faces South Creek. If one day I travel here with you, I will tell those who come after us about this scenery.

On the twelfth day, I traveled with Wang Zanshan, magistrate of Fuchang County, to visit Dragon Pool. It lies on South Mountain, fifteen li from the county seat.

Deep water in the pool reflects the dark roots of the cliffs; several peaks rise high into the blue clouds. The visitors hold their breath and dare not speak, afraid that thunder might suddenly sound nearby.

I sit quietly by the water. Evening falls, but I still wander, unwilling to leave. On horseback, I turn back for one more look; clouds and mist have already hidden the pool behind layers of mountain shadows.

On the thirteenth day, I visited Upper Temple north of the county seat and Yellow Ravine to the west.

If you can leave the dusty world behind, you can make this a true realm. If you have not let go of worldly thoughts, then even inside a temple you remain a worldly person. If you do not seek the dwelling of immortals here, where else will you look for a place where flowers are kept hidden?

It is sad to see the Five Hegemons contend over the embers left after the Zhou dynasty’s decline; it is laughable that Wei, Shu, and Wu divided the realm only to inherit what remained of the Han dynasty’s legacy. Better to be an idle person with no talent or ability, living at ease…