《伊川击壤集》Vol. 4

The pines and cassia trees—has their color ever changed, even for a moment?

Though the scholars of Luoyang trust me, only you truly know the moonlit beauty by Tianjin Bridge. The soul in my dream did not realize that the Eastern Capital, Luoyang, lay far behind. It still came and went to meet you as in days of old.

Gardens and Ponds Below Luoyang

The gardens and ponds within Luoyang have no gates to keep people out. They are like immortal realms in grotto-heavens; there is no need to look elsewhere for the springtime scene. To wander and enjoy them freely is better than being a leisurely guest. And when one has walked through every garden, why ask who owns it?

The railings of the little pavilion may be crude, but its flowers bloom beautifully. The terraces may lie in ruin, yet their scenery seems all the more vivid. Chasing an empty reputation can cost one endless pleasures, though such a reputation may never come one’s way in any case.

Dreaming of Visiting Yang Yingzhi, Commandant of Luoyang, East of the City

Last night in a dream I reached the eastern outskirts, where streams branched apart and roads ran clear. The scene was like crossing the River of Heaven on a wooden raft, but there was no trace left behind by Master Yan, the legendary traveler who rafted up to the celestial river and visited the stars, to confirm it.

Written on Behalf of Someone, Sent to Lu Gangshu, Assistant Instructor and Former Registrar of Luoyang

Your term of service in Luoyang is over. Now you are packing your clothes and preparing to leave. How could the clamor of the world stain your journey? Fortunately, these are peaceful and settled times. With the Dao in your heart, you should still be able to glimpse the old freedom of life among rivers and lakes.

Knowing when to advance or withdraw, and when to stop, is the mark of a worthy person. To bend and stretch as circumstances demand is what makes a true man. Why not return while the waterways are still open? The Three Wu region around Suzhou and Huzhou should be just as it was before.

Reply to Someone Asking for Green Reed

Among plants, some deserve praise. Do not lump green reed together with mugwort and wormwood, common or lowly grasses. Its branches and leaves grow thick, much like bamboo, and its fresh green color is especially suited to autumn.

The sound of wind and rain has only just arrived, yet it already stirs thoughts of rivers and lakes, and the mind cannot settle. Though it cannot save the world through great deeds, it can offer a place to pause for a while and entrust one’s thoughts.

A Song of Carefree Wandering

The principles I believe in are plain and simple; it is only that many people do not wish to follow them. Once one has truly attained the Dao, no lingering worry or aftertaste remains in the heart. But take one wrong step, and one will fall into a deep pit.

If one has not yet understood the principles of Heaven and Earth, how can one understand life and death? To gain insight into these matters, one must begin with sincerity and keep the heart clear.

There is already enough sorrow in life. What more is there to pursue beyond contentment? My life may not yet be complete, but I do not worry on that account.

I follow Heaven’s harmony and use wine to nourish body and mind; I draw forth genuine joy through poetry.

Human beings never seem to have enough to worry about. Once we are satisfied, what else is there to seek? I may not yet be fully content with my life, but I have no sorrow either.

Use wine to nourish body and mind, letting the harmonious breath of Heaven fill you. Let poetry draw forth genuine joy. If you doubt that time hurries people toward old age, just watch how quickly it turns their hair white.

At night I return to my peaceful home, the name of Shao Yong’s residence; at dawn I rise to drink in the breath of Great Harmony. By probing the subtle principles, one comes to know peace. By cultivating one’s simple nature, one can follow one’s natural disposition more fully.

Let the sun and moon hurry on through their courses; the mountains and rivers, too, are shaped in vain. Who, in the end, could become a person like this?

What is it that moves the heart so deeply? I would seek it, but there is nowhere to find it. It is as though the Yin and Yang of Heaven and Earth are always held in my hands, while the transformations of the myriad things never linger in my mind.

Sometimes jade lies hidden in stone; time and again, gold is sifted from gravel. The principle is plain to see, yet difficult to grasp. One must settle the mind and ponder it carefully.

A Song Written on a Chance Occasion

We are separated by what seems no more than a hair’s breadth, yet also by a thousand mountains upon a thousand mountains. Even if the distance leaves me unable to sleep or eat, I will not give up the clever schemes I hold in my heart.

I do not expect others to be perfect in every way; there are simply things that are truly hard to say. Besides, the intention of Heaven’s Way is not far away. Once it seems distant, we may never find our way back.

Whenever I Pass the Eastern Neighbor’s Home

Whenever I pass the eastern neighbor’s home, I feel that they treat their guests with ever greater warmth. Each time I visit, I feel ashamed; once we meet, though, we are as close as family.

The food and drink are always to my liking, and the children are happy and at ease. With such pleasures in my own hometown, why seek benevolence somewhere else?

Whenever I Pass East Street

Whenever I pass East Street, the people there complain that I arrive only in the evening. They know only how to draw close in their leisure…

The food and drink are always to my liking, and the children are happy and at ease. With such pleasures in my own hometown, why seek benevolence somewhere else?

Whenever I Pass East Street

Whenever I pass East Street, the people there complain that I arrive only in the evening. They are absorbed in idle talk; how could they notice how glad I feel inside?

I have a thousand kinds of joy, and no one suspects me of anything. A little tipsy, I drink the wine of happiness. Though evening has not yet fallen, I still do not want to go home.

A Noble Person’s Relations with Others

A noble person, in dealings with others, can never entirely set aside vigilance; a petty person, in dealings with others, can never entirely avoid mistakes.

Because these relationships bring genuine happiness, we should cherish them all the more. If clouds and waters one day separate us and we grow distant, this friendship may be hard to recover.

Heaven Alone Has Two Breaths

Heaven and Earth have only two kinds of Qi: one Yin, one Yang. When Yin Qi falls out of balance, snakes and scorpions arise; when Yang Qi is harmonious, phoenixes are born.

How can we make the snakes and scorpions perish, so they no longer bring harm to people? How can we bring phoenixes into being, so they remain auspicious signs for the nation through the ages?

No one turns the course of Heaven back, while some only embolden thieves. Stars are often seen in broad daylight, and frost even falls in the sixth month.

There are books, but no leisure to read them; there is food, but no time to savor it. Besides, the food would not fill a single earthen bowl, while books lie piled high across the bed, unread.

Abhorring death and cherishing life is a feeling shared by people throughout the ages. If people’s hearts could rest content with their livelihoods, the world would naturally have no wars.

If plants and trees can grow in peace, surely mountains and rivers can be tranquil too. Why not sing while striking the clods, drink wine, and enjoy an age of peace? “Striking the clods” refers to an ancient game and song celebrating peace.

Releasing Small Fish

These little fish are small and tender, not worth keeping. Confined here, they would only lose their lives. I’ll release you into rivers and lakes, far from the peril of being boiled in a cauldron.

You must also steer clear of deep nets, and never swallow a fishhook by mistake. There are plenty of cooks in the world; don’t let yourselves become the dishes on their tables.

Matching the Rhyme of Senior Official Tian’s Gift

Each day I stroll through my own garden, the fresh breeze brushing my face, at no cost at all. Even within the city, I can take in the sights of the countryside, beneath the bamboo playing with the flowing spring.

I am content with what I have and have nothing to lament. Why not cultivate a noble and expansive spirit? I am only ashamed before the scholars of the world: when I speak of the Dao, I have not yet forgotten words and writing, the tools that convey it. “Speaking of the Dao without yet forgetting the fish trap” alludes to the saying “Once you have the fish, forget the trap.” It means that one who speaks of the Dao has not yet forgotten that words and writing are merely tools for conveying its meaning.

Requesting Bamboo for Flutes

The people of Luoyang love to grow flowers; I alone love to grow bamboo. Though our tastes differ, each of us can be satisfied by what we love.

Flowers bloom for ten days, then wither; bamboo stays green throughout the year. Both receive the gifts of rain and dew, yet only bamboo fears neither frost nor snow.

Matching the Rhyme of Senior Official Wang Buyi’s Invitation to Drink

The hardships of the world call to mind the immortal Fuqiu Gong; my native place, too, has many fine sights worth visiting. Seeing white hair in the wind makes one’s heart skip; welcoming early autumn after the rain brings delight.

Though my interest in official service is slight, my appetite for climbing high and taking in the scenery has not waned. The troubles and anxieties of the human world have no place in my heart.

Another Reply to Senior Official Wang Buyi’s Gift

The weather has only just turned cool, and it is pleasant everywhere; any place will do for an outing. As the wild geese arrive, eagles and sparrowhawks, too, find autumn a season of triumph.

Forget your outward form and revel through the night; one false step may ruin a whole life. How many people on rivers and lakes set sail, yet never reach their destination?

Keeping to the rhyme, I respond to “A Journey to K’an” by the Minor Official of the Three Kings. The wild geese come south just as autumn arrives; hawks and falcons, too, flourish in autumn.

Forget your outward form and revel through the night; one false step may ruin a whole life. How many people on rivers and lakes set sail, yet never reach their destination?

Keeping to the rhyme, I respond to the Minor Official of the Three Kings, who visited my humble home. Anzhi, Buyi, and Zhongmei were there as well.

Luoyang has its poetry society, where the verses you compose on horseback seem inspired. As we grow older, our friendship deepens; when the chrysanthemums bloom, the scene takes on fresh meaning.

I am deeply grateful for your visit. Yet, thinking that my De is not sufficiently pure, I feel ashamed. In the lonely west wind, I sit quietly at home, as if living a half-hidden life.

Written on another’s behalf to Lü Xianke, Prefect of Nanyang and Supervising Censor:

Twenty-four years have passed since we parted. Our fortunes in office have risen and fallen, and we have lost touch. The ease of talking and laughing among the trees ought to be mine to enjoy; the weighty responsibility for the realm’s security, surely, belongs to you.

You once spoke frankly in remonstrance before the emperor. Now, on Flower Island, you have found a little leisure. On a moonlit night when the breeze is gentle, do you still remember that old fisherman from Yichuan?

Lü Hui, “Reply to Yao Fu’s Letter”: Wild geese fly high beneath distant clouds; separated by the wind, we have had no news for ten years. I never expected that, while the wise emperor sought men of ability to govern the realm, he would still allow a recluse like me to live at ease on Flower Island.

I envy you your freedom to enjoy the passing years. Though I hold an idle post, I eat my fill and sleep through the day. You must laugh at me for suffering repeated demotions and accomplishing nothing; only after illness and age have weakened me have I begun to write poems about returning to the fields.

Sent to Wu Chuanzheng, Assistant Prefect:

How desolate the wind and moon seem beside Tianjin Bridge. Do you, like me, often think of it in autumn? I often ask the clear waves to carry you my greetings, but I do not know whether my message has reached Luoyang, the eastern capital.

Sent to Lu Gangshu, formerly Registrar of Luoyang County and now a Secretarial Proofreader:

You completed your term in Luoyang and returned to Wu. As a man, you have yet to fulfill your great ambitions. When you reach a place of splendid mountains and waters, do not begrudge a cup of wine; gaze toward Tianjin Bridge from afar.

Keeping to the rhyme, I respond to the poem by Zhang, Director of the Censorate in Huainan.

Half the parasol tree leaves in the courtyard have turned yellow, and the chrysanthemums by the fence have just endured the first frost. At dusk, feeling rather low, I lift my wine cup and gaze toward the southwest.

I look for that person, but cannot see him; all I see is a flock of geese flying south. I mean to set my longing down in a letter and send it, but before I know it, I have written several lines of verse.

Written on the Day Before the Double Ninth Festival

Lately, illness has been upon me, bringing many pains too difficult to put into words. I keep wishing to drink just enough to grow drowsy and drift off to sleep. The Double Ninth Festival has just arrived, the new wine is ready, and the lovely flowers have begun to bloom. The season, too, has reached “Little Spring,” the brief spell of warmer weather in early winter.

I know my fate is ill-starred, and misfortune seems to have reached its limit. I no longer want one thing after another to appear before my eyes. Only the setting sun still stretches across Tianjin Bridge, and the river still murmurs along as it always has.

Three Poems on Climbing the Stone Pavilion on the Double Ninth

Most people see only the pleasant side of things. After watching the ways of the world for long enough, one grows familiar with them. To regret something only after it has passed is like trying to bite one’s own navel: it is too late. When harmed by external things, one must guard against having one’s actions constrained.

Muddy water can still be clarified and filtered; dust on clothes should be shaken off. But if we must speak of standards for judging things, who is truly skilled at making such judgments?

An event belongs to its moment; once the moment has passed, it cannot be undone. What seemed so lovely at the time no longer merits attachment when viewed later.

When summer has passed, there is no need to speak of its heat. Only when winter comes do we begin to speak of the cold. If people can understand this, sorrow and trouble will naturally find it harder to cling to them.

This year, as I lean on the railing for the Double Ninth Festival, the cool weather seems to have come later than in years past. The mist has cleared, yet the trees have not fully shed their leaves.

The wide-open landscape between Heaven and Earth lifts the heart; the mountains and rivers lie before my eyes and bring a sense of ease. I have leaned against every part of the railing, but who could understand what I feel?

Replying to a Friend in His Rhyme

A million warriors surge forth like fierce beasts, and dust fills the borderlands. Those entrusted by the court with great responsibility are all men of uncommon ability. The Hu have stirred up trouble; though it is not yet serious, worthy men loyal to the state must give their utmost.

The soldiers’ mournful songs on the Long River must be full of grief and indignation. Those drinking freely in the woods may seem to be enjoying themselves, yet their hearts hold only bitterness. I would like to offer a word of sound counsel, but fear we do not yet know one another well enough to truly understand each other.

A Poem on an Unexpected Encounter

Wealth and status often make people arrogant, and human relationships sometimes change as well. Those of lofty moral character do not grow arrogant on that account, and people’s respect and affection for them endure.

Moral character has its own enduring principles, while wealth and status have no fixed term. Wild grass withers as soon as frost arrives, but pines and cypresses grow more luxuriant beneath heavy snow.

People in the world often attach themselves to those in power, like those who draw near a flame for warmth. Once power wanes, they naturally drift away. A noble person knows how to remain at ease in hardship; as time passes, the bonds between people grow firm.

Once power wanes, it is hard to regain. Those bound by firm affection, however, do not leave. Strangers may sometimes become as close as family, while those once close may become like passersby.

Only when one’s intentions and actions accord with each other is one worthy of esteem. When people are close and intimate, good and evil can be distinguished. There will always be people in the world worth befriending; how could there be no kindred spirits under Heaven?

Having seen the difference between fragrant and foul plants, one should realize that fine jade and ordinary stone may both be burned up together. How can human relationships and the ways of the world be made to remain beautiful, like springtime in Luoyang?

Untitled Song

In the past, I did not know how to restrain my desires for things, and was once blinded by external objects. Now I do not know how to govern the way I treat others, and have stirred up their resentment.

Faults caused by external things can still be explained; when one has angered someone, it is hard to plead one’s case to them. I admit that I have treated others wrongly, and they forgive me.

Song on Having No Wine

Since the new regulations took effect, I have often lamented that there is no wine in my jar. Whenever friends and guests come to visit, I can only sit idly with them all day.

If I am always asking others for wine, the bonds between friends and kin will suffer. If I am always pawning my clothes to buy wine, how could that last?

Reading Tao Yuanming’s “Returning Home”

“Return home!” These words call me back to my true nature. Though the past is gone, my spirit can be renewed. Has such an age never been seen before? It is simply rare to encounter someone like Tao Yuanming.

As evening approaches, I sigh to see the light gradually fading. When I see the trees thriving, I feel joy. How regrettable that more than six hundred years after Tao Yuanming’s death, it took so long for another carefree person to inherit his bearing.

The notes quote variant readings from the Siku Quanshu edition: ① “The urgent task now is to take the heads of the two enemies”; ② “As for me, I am content with Guazhou and Shazhou, Gansu and Liangzhou”; ③ the text listed ends at “It is indeed possible.”

Volume Seven of The Yichuan Collection of Songs on Striking the Soil

“Written on Another’s Behalf and Sent to Zhang, Assistant Prefect of Haozhou”

I feel deeply inadequate, and know nothing of musical modes. Though I have heard of the music of Heaven, I have no way to seek it out. When Hui Shi and Zhuangzi were friends, they shared a profound affection; and the places where Zhuangzi wandered held a meaning of great depth.

In a quiet moment, I briefly recorded an event from a spring day. Even in old age, I still cannot forget my concern for a friend far away, a thousand miles from here. When the scholars of Luoyang gather, friends often meet; for my sake, they sing “Song of White Hair,” expressing their affection.

“Three Edicts Answering My Fellow Villagers’ Question About Why I Do Not Take Office”

In all my life, I have never done anything to make people frown. Surely there is no one under heaven who hates me enough to grind their teeth in anger. The fallen flowers have already withered; why hasten them on with rain? Why should old things need spring to adorn them?

Fortunately, I lived under wise and worthy rulers like Yao and Shun. I, too, could withdraw from court like Chao Fu and Xu You and be a subject who takes no part in government. A frail, sickly man of sixty such as I should know his limits. The regional inspector, whose duty is to oversee local officials, need not trouble himself urging me to enter public service.

Matching the Rhyme of Vice Minister Wang Anzhi

I worry only that the people of my native place do not yet know me well. Once we understand one another, what is there to doubt? In poverty, a stipend is welcome; to take office in old age is to find it hard to accomplish much.

Matching the Rhyme of the Vice Minister Who Has His Own Woods and Springs, Where He Finds Peace in Simplicity

I worry only that the people of my native place do not yet know me well. Once we understand one another, what is there to doubt? In poverty, a stipend is welcome; to take office in old age is to find it hard to accomplish much.

I have my own woods and springs where I can settle my heart and body. Besides, I have neither talents nor achievements enough to stir the court. Had Xunzi and Yang Xiong kept to the proper bounds of the Confucian scholar, Han Yu would not have written about their small failings.

Matching the Rhyme of the Gift from Vice Director Liu

The workings of creation have their own deep purpose. I wish only to follow my heart and live among the woods and hills. In youth, illness kept me from seeking a stipend; in old age, my lack of ability leaves me unmoved by the prospect of office.

When flowers and moonlight bring a quiet evening, I stroll beside the water; where fragrant orchids drift on the breeze, I lie beneath the pines. A peaceful nap by the idle window is worth more than being made a marquis and showered with gold and silver.

Written on Behalf of Someone to Thank Academician Wang Shengzhi for Sending Tea and Wine Vessels Made of Laishi Stone

On the eastern mountain there is a stone like fine jade. Once carved by a craftsman, it can be used to hold wine. You came by such a precious vessel, yet could not bear to keep it for yourself; with great care, you sent it from afar to me, an old man living among the hills.

I have always used earthenware cups. When this arrived so suddenly, I was too startled to dare hold it in my hands. I repeatedly warned the children not to damage it, then carefully packed it away to await the arrival of my worthy friend.

I do not know when this worthy friend will return. A man’s accomplishments and reputation are not yet established. The court should first heed those who worry for the country; at present, nothing is more troubling than the two enemy states to the north.

The Six Commanderies of the Han are cut off by Liaoxi, and the Eight Prefectures of the Tang are separated by the lands beyond the mountains. Beyond these, the Central Plains dynasties have also long been unable to hold places such as Ganzhou, Shazhou, and Liangzhou.

Why use gold and silk to reward them, only to leave the people bearing even greater hardship, as though their hands and feet were shackled? Without the court’s central authorities devising an unexpected strategy, how could the border commanders lead their remaining troops in a desperate fight?

This foul, barbaric presence must be driven out completely, forced west beyond Yumen Pass and north across the frontier. Now that the foxes beneath the city walls have been eliminated, the jackals on the road will naturally have nowhere to flee.

The sun shines high, lighting the road to Heaven; baleful miasma and the breath of calamity all vanish into dust. Once the great deed was done, he refused the court’s lavish rewards. He removed his seal and ribbon—the emblems of office, relinquished with his post—and kept only the golden seal, large as a measuring bowl.

He asked to take up a post in Luoyang, bade farewell to his ruler, and left the capital. As he rode back, a warm breeze stirred the willows along the city streets. The officials stood in ranks on either side of the road, like walls, urging him to stay. He held his head high, flicked his whip, and rode on without looking back.

The people of his hometown lined the road to welcome their local magistrate. In his tipsy delight, he embraced the banners and ceremonial standards, their splendor gleaming like brocade. After dismounting, he first went to pay his respects at the tomb. Then, having put his affairs in order, he did not visit the powerful officials at the government offices, but went to see his friends and relatives.

Only then did I understand that every person has a time when their abilities can be put to use. I should wish you a happy birthday, and may you live long in good health.

Wang Shengzhi and Yirou wrote this poem to Master Shao Yaofu in place of a letter: A precious blade cuts stone as easily as spring mud; once carved into a vessel, it shines blue and clear as glass. I once saw and acquired this set of implements, but regrettably I have no use for them and cannot keep them with me. When I visited your home on Tongtuo Lane some time ago, the alleys there were secluded and winding, with scarcely a carriage or horse passing by. You had a child boil tea and pour clear wine, finding contentment in pottery and living simply in poverty.

I admire your ease with poverty and your unhurried, carefree spirit. Your conversation never turns to the pursuit of high office. I, by contrast, hurry through the dust of the capital, ever farther from wine and good food, and can only eat plain, coarse meals in sorrow. I have wrapped the implements away and set them in a corner. From time to time, when they are moved, they ring out like jade striking jade. I think I shall send them specially to the lofty recluse Shao, so they may keep you company amid your books, desk, and walking stick in your quiet life. I hope you will weed the fields well and tend your vegetable beds diligently. Perhaps next spring we can drink together. Please clear the stones by the stream for me, so that I may share a drink with you there.

At Chongde Pavilion, in reply to the verses everyone had written, “The Chan of Silence”:

Beneath the vast heavens, the sun moves on without pause. Why labor to distinguish sense faculties and their objects—the roots and dust of Buddhist teaching? The Great Peng flies ten thousand miles without a carriage, and the crane lives three thousand years by its own way of eternal spring.

Turning lead and tin into gold by alchemy is false in the end; the Elixir…

Under the vast sky, the sun moves on without pause. Why labor over the distinction between “root” and “dust”—the senses and their external objects, as Buddhists call them? The great roc crosses ten thousand miles through the air without anyone guiding it; the immortal crane enjoys a lifespan of three thousand years, sustained by its own way of enduring spring.

Turning lead and tin into gold by alchemical means is false in the end; a horse painted with pigments cannot be expected to become real. Consider the bitter night when the wind blows hard and the sky is cold: who can stand firm, holding the gate and refusing to yield?

This six-foot body of mine is already frail with illness. How can it withstand growing weaker day after day? I cherish the clarity and lucidity within me, yet have not had the chance to pass it on in a single sentence.

Gold lies hidden in the sand, but it still takes patience to sift it out. Jade is contained in stone, yet people cannot help wondering whether it is truly precious. In the western wind at dusk, my heart feels desolate. I lean along the railing again and again, but no one knows.

Mount Taihua, the highest peak of Mount Hua, rises five thousand ren. Below it, those who have attained the Dao come and go. Years ago, as I rode past, I turned to look back. Ten years on, that scene still returns in my dreams, as though my soul were still lingering among the mountain passes.

I have loved mountains all my life, yet have always felt I had not seen enough of them. By that measure, I have seen every mountain under heaven. It is rare indeed to find a celebrated mountain like Mount Hua, one that makes a person wish to spend all their leisure in its company.

I have neither learning nor strategy; my mind has always been empty. When my stomach is empty, I want wine; with my ailing eyes, I dread reading.

A light breeze stirs beside the Luo River, and a brief shower has just passed around Tianjin Bridge. My old friend is a thousand miles away. I wonder whether you, too, are gazing into the distance just now, and what is in your heart.

Han Wei-gong, a senior minister who assisted three generations of rulers, rose to the highest ministerial office and achieved great distinction, leaving his name for the ages. His former students spread throughout the realm, and he too had to maneuver through the storms and dangers of a treacherous political climate.

The cold of night in the military tent can stir ambition all the more; in court, the post of chief minister still lies vacant. The sovereign is now in the prime of life, and a great general like Guo Ziyi is still alive. The lands of Hehuang, stretching ten thousand miles, should not be difficult to recover.

Autumn descends upon mountains and rivers, and the scene is grand. But I am old now, and cannot bear to gaze out at leisure. Thinking of our deep bond, like that of sworn brothers, my longing has no end. Our affection is as profound as that between siblings, and my feelings will not be stilled.

An unfinished game of chess consumed the whole day; the west wind tousled a head of white hair. Only the stately bearing shared by ruler and subject, father and son, was as magnificent as mountains and rivers, so that even in old age one could not bear to spend the time merely gazing idly. Deep friendship between sworn companions stirred endless longing, while the bonds between brothers brought no end of reflection.

An unfinished game of chess consumed the whole day; the west wind tousled a head of white hair. Only the long-standing mutual understanding between ruler and subject, father and son, made their hearts alike as pine and cassia, their colors harmonizing with one another.

Written on Another’s Behalf and Sent to Zhang Taifu, County Magistrate of Yinjiang

I often recall how, in those days, we cleaned our humble dwelling together. Several of us brothers first gained distinction by passing the examinations, and we shared that experience. I have long since forgotten the many ordinary details of my life, yet though we are a thousand miles apart, we still exchange letters on small sheets of paper.

I imagine the scenery of wind and moon around Mount Siming must be lovely, especially with its rivers and hills in the depths of autumn. I have not yet found the leisure to travel there by boat; I can only hear, to no purpose, that Your Honored Father sends inquiries about my health and daily life.

On Perceiving Things in Advance

Those who can discern how things stand in advance are people like us; do not let the world’s mockery sway you lightly. Better to withdraw into quiet and keep a calm, unworldly mind than to make a poor showing among the crowd.

No sight of countless rare blossoms can match seeing them with one’s own eyes, while a full moon remains in the heart for a long time. Can such hours really be said to have passed in vain? One also learns how to arrange the necessities of daily life.

On Perceiving Things in Advance

Those who can discern how things stand in advance are people like us; do not let the world’s mockery sway you lightly. Better to withdraw into quiet and keep a calm, unworldly mind than to make a poor showing among the crowd.

No sight of countless rare blossoms can match seeing them with one’s own eyes, while a full moon remains in the heart for a long time. Can such hours really be said to have passed in vain? One also learns to live with joy.

The Western Pavilion at Autumn’s End

Chrysanthemums fill the railings, all blooming at once; their fragrance drifts through the doors, windows, and pavilion rooms. Pleased at heart, I cannot help composing poems to give voice to my feelings. It is a year of abundant harvest, and the joy of the occasion adds to my delight.

The scenery of late autumn has its own charms. Though the years are advancing, my sinews and bones remain in fair health. After drinking, I may as well climb high and look into the distance: the evening clouds, like brocade, gather and overlap in the slanting sunlight.

A Leisurely Stroll in Tianjin

I wander freely through Luoyang, east and west, coming and going. For twenty years, I have enjoyed a life of ease and leisure to the full. Old friends often visit with warm affection; the capital is vast, yet its general air is peaceful and composed.

The pond is still as a lake, and the woods are quiet, at times like a mountain valley. There is no need to establish world-shaking achievements: the life of quiet retirement has joys of its own without end.

Replying in Verse to Zhang Qiang and His Colleague in Chang’an

Your poems are superb, worth more than a priceless jade known across the realm. My talent is too slight to answer with verses like those of Mi Heng. I had thought myself like the speaker in “The Cypress Boat,” forever unable to find a kindred spirit; yet now, unexpectedly, I have received such gracious honor and appreciation.

A towering peak reveals its sheer height only after the rain; wind and moonlight appear especially clear after being washed by frost. The ancients said long ago that few people can join in with elegant music. “White Snow in Bright Spring” (the name of an ancient refined melody) has certainly earned its reputation.

A Letter Written on Someone Else’s Behalf in Reply to Zhang, the Supervising Secretary of Huainan

You cannot catch fish by climbing a tree to look for them. But following the fish and seeking a grilled meal may well work. Rather than wait until you are ill to seek good medicine, it is better to decline that large cup of wine before you drink.

Lingzhi has no roots, so there is no need to trouble yourself planting it. Since the peaches of Penglai bear fruit, how could they be difficult to grow? Grateful for your deep appreciation of me, I too hope to flourish as a humble blade of grass does.

A Spontaneous Poem

One who gathers the strengths of many schools and achieves mastery will not simply copy their models. To turn back and go the other way would be like abandoning a golden carriage. If we say that nothing under Heaven is difficult, can we really believe that everyone in the world is a great man?

Acting in step with the times is a sound policy in accord with Heaven’s will; being content in a fitting place is a good way to conduct oneself in the world. Between Heaven and humanity there is only a subtle measure of difference. Cross that line, and the distance becomes as great as the Five Lakes.

A Letter Written on Someone Else’s Behalf to a Friend

More than twenty years have passed since we parted; time flies like an arrow, leaving us only to sigh. We have long been separated east and west amid turmoil and upheaval, yet before and after our parting we have written to one another with deep feeling.

The mountains and rivers of our homeland often appear in my dreams. The old homes and familiar people have mostly fallen into ruin and decline. When will we be able to talk again about the days of old, smiling as we open a wine jar in the autumn wind?

A Poem on Wind Stirring the Leaves

Xining year 3 (1070 CE, when Shao Yong was sixty)

The wind stirs the leaves of a tree, but not its roots. Be careful not to dwell too insistently on your own roots. The old imperial capital is peaceful and pleasant to live in; there is no need to speak at length about the small matters left behind by the sages.

In a land long settled in peace, I am like a companion to the immortals. Living in the “Nest of Ease” (the name of Shao Yong’s residence), I am like a man of wealth and rank. After traveling through countless rivers and mountains, I have at last returned and come to know myself.

I often recall the days when I swept my humble home. The little path through the courtyard was never overrun with weeds. I wanted to be someone who could solve the world’s great problems; how could I content myself with reading only the opinions that worldly people take for truth?

Once I understood that times wax and wane, I knew when to advance and when to withdraw. Seeing how things change between Heaven and Earth, I also learned how close to draw to others and when to keep my distance. Since grasping the principle of the “pivot” (remaining at the center of change without clinging to either extreme), I have had no more restlessness or resentment in my heart.

I traveled far and wide, searching for a clear sky in Wu and Yue, never realizing that it was right before my eyes. When I opened my eyes and saw it, my mind still made distinctions and held fast to things. I looked up and searched again, only to lose sight of it all the more.

Yan Hui, Confucius’s disciple, was in a phase when he seemed dull but had in fact gained deep insight; Mencius, too, had reached a state of steadfast resolve, unmoved by external things. How can one attain such skill: to walk freely through a market filled with precious treasures, without coveting pearls and shells or worrying over money?

I sought an oracle to dispel my doubts, but it only brought more doubts. The root of the illness is already deep; what medicine could cure it? To speak of a dream within a dream only piles one illusion upon another; to set another bed on a bed is simply unnecessary.

Liezi rode the wind, yet in the end still depended on it. Could Kuafu, chasing the sun, really escape exhaustion? One may labor long and achieve nothing; one may travel the whole world and still spend one’s time in vain at a fork in the road.

Drinking with the Flowers

People say that beyond the world there are cloud-wreathed realms of immortals. But what is there to boast of in clouds beyond the world? If happiness is the measure, then a life without worry or distress is already a life like an immortal’s.

A hundred years cannot be held on to, and ten days of spring blossoms cannot be kept from fading. When wine and flowers are before us, drinking and admiring the blossoms is the way to honor this fine moment. To have flowers but no wine is to let their beauty go to waste.

A Leisurely Walk in the Rear Garden After Spring Has Passed

On days when the green trees cast their shade, orioles sing to one another. Ripples stir in the narrow stream, and the new bamboo rises in an uneven array.

I leaned on my staff and recited poems for a long while, then took a young attendant with me for a leisurely stroll. The mild breeze seemed to understand my heart and came blowing toward me on purpose.

Written on Behalf of Another, to Assistant Magistrate Wu Chuanzheng

Few in the world can match your sincere and steadfast nature. The scenes of past and present have both become difficult to trace. Frost and wind have never truly chilled the pines and cassia trees, nor have their colors ever changed. So it is with steadfast character: tested by the passage of time, it remains unchanged.

Although the scholars of Luoyang all trust me, you alone know the charms of the scenery around Tianjin Bridge, the famous bridge over the Luo River. In my dreams, my spirit has not noticed that Luoyang lies far behind; it still comes and goes with you, meeting as it did before.

Gardens and Ponds Below Luoyang

The gardens and ponds within Luoyang’s walls have no gates to bar the way. There is no need to seek spring elsewhere when visiting the paradisal realms of Daoist lore. Those who range freely for pleasure are less at ease than the unhurried passersby; and when wandering through the gardens, why would one ever need to ask for the owner?

The railings of the small pavilion may look plainer now, but the flowers have a beauty of their own. The terraces and halls may have fallen into ruin, yet the scenery reveals a truer charm. An empty reputation can keep one from enjoying life’s boundless pleasures, though one need not be burdened by it for an entire lifetime.

Dreaming of Passing Through the East of the City to Visit Yang Yingzhi, the Luoyang Commandant

Last night, in a clear dream, I passed through the east of the city. The stream divided into branches, and the road lay open. It was just like riding a raft straight up to the River of Heaven, except that there was no trace of Yan Zi—Yan Zun, known by the courtesy name Junping, a figure associated in legend with the stars and the River of Heaven—to confirm it.

A Letter Sent on Another’s Behalf to Lu Gangshu, Secretarial Proofreader and Former Registrar of Luoyang

Your term of service in Luoyang has ended, and now you are setting your clothes in order, preparing to travel far. How could the turmoil of the world stain your road? Fortunately, you live in a clear and peaceful age, and before you, the familiar landscapes of rivers and lakes may soon appear once more.

Knowing when to advance and withdraw, when to act and when to stop, is the mark of a worthy person. Being able to yield and endure, yet also to fulfill one’s aims, is what makes a true man. When you return, you might set out while the waters have not yet fully receded. I wonder whether the Three Wu region, around today’s Jiangsu and Zhejiang, still looks as it did before.

In Reply to Someone Asking for Green Reed

Among plants and trees, some are worthy of affection; do not lump green reeds together with wormwood and mugwort, ordinary plants often regarded as weeds. Its dense branches and leaves resemble bamboo, and its deep green color is especially suited to autumn.

The sound of wind and rain seems to have just begun to ring out, while thoughts of rivers and lakes are hard to quiet. Though it cannot accomplish great deeds or bring aid to the world, it can offer a place to settle the body and mind for a time.

Song of Free and Easy Wandering

My Dao is plain and easy, yet many people are unwilling to follow it. One who has truly attained the Dao no longer clings to the taste of anything in the heart; take a wrong turn, and one falls into a deep pit.

If you have not yet understood the principles of Heaven and Earth, how could you understand life and death? The principle within us must be sincerely examined and clearly understood for oneself. “From inner sincerity to understanding” means reaching clarity through sincerity of heart.

People often feel that life is not enough. Having gained these things, what more is there to seek? My life cannot be called abundant, yet I have no particular worries.

I nourish body and mind with wine that follows my nature, and use poetry to summon genuine joy. If you doubt that the years hasten people toward old age, just watch how they turn a person’s hair white.

At night I return to my “Haven of Ease”—the name Shao Yong gave his home—and at dawn rise to drink the Qi of Great Harmony, the pure, balanced breath between Heaven and Earth. By plumbing the wondrous principles, one learns to be peaceful and at ease; by nurturing one’s simple, unadorned nature, one can follow one’s natural inclinations more fully.

Let the sun and moon turn and pass as they will; even mountains and rivers undergo their changes in vain. Who, in the end, could become such a person?

What can move the heart most deeply? Seek it, and nowhere can it be found. Yin and Yang, the Two Principles, seem to rest in one’s hands, while the transformations of the myriad things weigh nothing on one’s mind.

Jade is often hidden in stone, and gold can be sifted from sand time and again. The principle is plain to see, yet difficult to grasp. To truly understand it, one must settle down and ponder it again and again.

Composed on a Passing Feeling

Only the slightest distance separates us, yet it feels like a thousand mountains and rivers lie between. Though I can concentrate until I forget to eat and sleep, I have not yet let go of the clever calculations in my heart.

This is not a demand that others do everything perfectly; it is simply that I always find it difficult to speak. The heart of Heaven—the intent of the Dao—is not really far away. Once it seems distant, one may never find one’s way back to it.

Whenever I Pass by the Eastern Neighbor

Whenever I pass by the Eastern Neighbor, I find its people even more welcoming. Since I have come, I often end up feeling ashamed; when we meet, we are as close as family.

They prepare food and drink to suit each person’s tastes, and the children are delighted too. My hometown offers pleasures like these. Why seek “benevolence”—the Confucian ideal of kindness and goodwill between people—somewhere else?

Whenever I Pass by East Street

Whenever I pass by East Street, its people always complain that I come so late in the evening. They are absorbed in idle conversation and have no idea how delighted I feel.

I have many pleasures, but others cannot guess what is in my heart. After drinking until pleasantly tipsy, I feel content; though it is still early, I cannot bring myself to leave.

The Gentleman’s Relations with Others

In dealing with others, the gentleman remains vigilant and never dares to be careless. In dealing with others, the petty person always feels that nothing is amiss.

This present and genuine joy should also be cherished all the more. When the time comes to wander far away and gradually grow distant from the people and affairs of today, this kind of joy may be hard to find again.

Heaven Alone Has Two Kinds of Qi

Between Heaven and Earth there are only two kinds of Qi: Yin and Yang. When Yin Qi turns perverse, snakes and scorpions arise; when Yang Qi is calm and balanced, it gives life to luan and phoenixes, auspicious birds of legend.

May the snakes and scorpions all perish, never again to bring calamity upon the world. May the phoenix appear and remain for long as an auspicious sign for the state.

No Worthy Guest Can Turn Heaven’s Will

No worthy person can turn back Heaven’s will, yet there are those who provide food to bandits. At midday, the Dipper stars appear again and again in the sky; in the sixth month, frost falls.

Some have books but no time to read them, and food but no time to eat. There is so little food that it cannot fill a single fou, a pottery vessel for grain, while books lie piled up across the bed.

People have always feared death and loved life; this has been true from ancient times to the present. So long as people’s hearts incline toward goodness and they are willing to work together to make a living, the world will naturally be free of war.

Even plants and trees can follow the patterns of Heaven and Earth and grow in peace. Surely mountains and rivers can be at peace too. Why has no one yet sung while striking the earth, or raised a cup to celebrate peace? “Striking the earth” was an ancient game that symbolized a peaceful life; here, it expresses a longing for a stable and tranquil age.

Releasing a Small Fish

This little fish is so small and tender that it is not worth keeping to eat. It would be a terrible loss for it to die for that. I’ll let you return to the rivers and lakes, far from the cooking pot.

In the future, steer clear of dense fishing nets, and take care not to swallow a hook by mistake. There are plenty of cooks in the world, so do not end up on someone’s plate again.

Replying in the Same Rhyme to the Gift from Senior Official Tian

Every day I stroll around my home, with a fresh breeze that costs me nothing. Even within the city, I can enjoy the scenery of the countryside, admiring a rushing spring beneath the bamboo.

I am content to live this way and have no cause to complain. Why not cultivate a noble and upright spirit? Yet I feel ashamed before the scholars of the world: when speaking of the Great Dao, I have not yet forgotten words and writing, the tools used to express it. A “fish trap” is a bamboo device for catching fish; here, “forgetting the trap” means grasping the truth and no longer clinging to the words used to convey it.

Asking for Bamboo for Flutes

The people of Luoyang enjoy growing flowers; I alone enjoy growing bamboo. Though our tastes differ, each of us can have our wish fulfilled.

Flowers stay brightly red for only ten days, while bamboo remains green all year round. Both receive the bounty of rain and dew, yet only bamboo withstands the ravages of frost and snow.

Replying in the Same Rhyme to Junior Official Wang Buyi’s Invitation to Drink

After enduring hardship, I find myself thinking of Fuqiu, the legendary immortal, and feel that my home region, too, has many places worth exploring. The wind makes me suddenly notice how much more white my hair has become; after the rain, I delight in the refreshing coolness of early autumn.

Though my heart is little attached to official life, my appetite for climbing and sightseeing has not diminished. The troubles of the human world cannot enter my heart.

In reply to Wang Bufuqiu: My hometown has many fine places worth visiting and enjoying. A sudden gust of wind makes me realize that my hair has turned white; after the rain, I rejoice that autumn is just beginning.

Though my interest in official life has faded, my pleasure in climbing to high places and taking in the view has not. All the world’s clamorous troubles remain outside my heart.

In reply to the poem presented by Assistant Minister Wang Buyi: The weather has only just turned cool, and it is pleasant now—what place could be unsuitable for an outing? The wild geese come south, like guests arriving; hawks and kites, too, spread their wings in the autumn and revel in their strength.

We celebrate together deep into the night, forgetting all trace of ourselves, carefree and joyful. Yet one false step can ruin a lifetime’s prospects. How many people drift across the rivers and lakes in their boats, never making for shore and home?

Matching the rhyme of the three Assistant Ministers, Wang Anzhi, Buyi, and Zhongmei, who all visited my humble home: Luoyang has its poetry society, where verses composed by you gentlemen on horseback seem inspired by the gods. Though our hair is white with age, our friendship has only grown deeper; when the chrysanthemums bloom, autumn’s scenes seem new again.

I am deeply grateful for your visit. Thinking that my own moral cultivation is not yet sufficiently sincere, I feel ashamed. In this lonely season, when the west wind sighs, I live quietly at home, with a leisure that seems greater even than that enjoyed by the ancients.

A letter sent on behalf of someone to Remonstrance Adviser Lü Xianke, Prefect of Nanyang: It has been twenty-four years since we parted. Our official careers have risen and fallen along different paths, and all news between us has ceased. The quiet life of conversation and laughter among the woods should be mine to enjoy; the grave responsibility for the security of the realm should fall to you.

You once spoke frankly before the emperor, showing yourself upright and unyielding; yet at Hundred Flowers Isle, you could also be calm and at ease. On a night of bright moonlight and gentle breeze, do you ever think of that old fisherman of Yichuan from days gone by?

Lü Hui, “Reply to Yao Fu’s Letter”: Wild geese soar high in the distant sky; wind and distance have kept our messages apart, and in the blink of an eye ten years have passed. I never imagined that, as the enlightened emperor sought worthy men to govern the realm, I, a man retired to the mountains and woods, would still be allowed to live quietly by springs and forests. I envy your ease and freedom, enjoying the passing years; when I look back at myself, I see an idle official who sleeps soundly through the day. You must laugh at me: repeatedly demoted, dismissed three times, and in the end having achieved nothing. Only in old age, frail and ill, have I begun to write poems asking to return to the fields.

To Assistant Registrar Wu Chuanzheng: How lonely the wind and moon seem around Tianjin Bridge. I wonder whether, when autumn comes, you often think of me as I think of you. I often ask the river, bright beneath the sun, to carry my greetings, but I do not know whether these messages have ever reached Luoyang in the Eastern Capital.

To Assistant Compiler Lu Gangshu, formerly Registrar of Luoyang County: A letter to Assistant Compiler Lu Gangshu, who once served as Registrar of Luoyang County.

After my term in Luoyang ends, I will return to Wu-Hui, in the region of today’s southern Jiangsu and northern Zhejiang. A man’s grand ambitions are not yet fulfilled. When you reach a place of outstanding beauty, do not begrudge raising a cup; gaze from afar toward Tianjin Bridge in Luoyang.

Following the rhyme of the original poem, I wrote in reply to a letter from Huainan and sent this poem. I wonder whether it ever reached the Eastern Capital, Luoyang?

Sent to Lu Gangshu, Secretarial Collator and former Registrar of Luoyang

After my term in Luoyang ends, I will return to Wu-Hui. A man’s grand ambitions are not yet fulfilled. When you reach a place of outstanding beauty, do not begrudge raising a cup; gaze toward Tianjin Bridge.

Following the rhyme of the original poem, replying to the poem by Zhang, Director of the Censorate in Huainan.

The courtyard’s paulownia leaves have already turned half yellow; chrysanthemums by the fence have just met the frost. In the evening, my spirits low, I raise a cup and gaze toward the southwest.

I hope to see you, but you are nowhere in sight; I see only wild geese flying south. I am just about to write you a letter, when, without noticing, several lines have already appeared on the page.

Written on the eve of the Double Ninth Festival

I have been ill so often of late that it is hard to put into words. I often wish to sleep deeply, a little drunk. As it happens, the Double Ninth Festival coincides with the new wine, and with “Little Spring,” when warmer weather returns in the tenth lunar month and fine flowers begin to bloom.

Knowing that my fate is ill-starred, I do not want one thing after another to come before me. Only the setting sun still stretches across Tianjin Bridge, and the sound of flowing water continues to murmur as before.

Three Poems on Climbing the Stone Pavilion at the Double Ninth Festival

On Human Feelings

Knowing that my fate is ill-starred, I do not want one thing after another to come before me. Only the setting sun still stretches across Tianjin Bridge, and the sound of flowing water continues to murmur as before.

Three Poems on Climbing the Stone Pavilion at the Double Ninth Festival

Human life often brings things that delight us, and I have long been familiar with the ways of the world. To regret something only after it has passed is like biting one’s own navel: it is already too late. When harm comes, one must guard against being held in someone else’s power.

Cloudy water can still be settled and filtered; dust on clothing should be shaken clean. But when it comes to judging and weighing affairs, who is truly an expert?

An event may occur in a single moment, but once time and circumstances have changed, it cannot be undone. When it happens, it may seem appealing; afterward, looking back, it becomes hard to accept.

When summer has passed, there is no point in speaking of the heat; only when winter arrives do we begin to speak of the cold. Whoever understands this will naturally be difficult for sorrow and misfortune to entangle.

This year at the Double Ninth Festival, leaning on the railing, I feel the season has come late. Though the clouds and haze have faded, the trees and grasses have not yet fully withered.

The vastness of heaven and earth opens the heart; the clear mountains and rivers invite the eye to wander. I have leaned against the railing all along its length, but who could understand this feeling?

Following the rhyme of the original poem, replying to a friend.

A million elite troops are on the move, and dust billows along the frontier. The court has entrusted this task to a figure of great consequence. Though the Hu tribes’ unrest is not yet severe, those loyal to the state must give their utmost.

Songs of grief from the northern highlands sound sorrowful; drinking freely among the trees only deepens the pain. I would like to offer a word of sound counsel, yet fear we are not truly close enough to understand one another.

Verses Happened Upon by Chance

Wealth and status often make people arrogant, and human relationships change with one’s circumstances. A person of virtue does not use them to exalt himself, so others remain close to him for a long time.

Virtue follows constant principles, but wealth and status have no fixed duration. Wild grasses wither when frost comes, while pines and cypresses grow greener amid wind and snow.

Wealth and status often make people arrogant, and human relationships change with one’s circumstances. A person of virtue does not use them to exalt himself, so others remain close to him for a long time.

Virtue follows constant principles, but wealth and status have no fixed duration. Wild grasses wither when frost comes, while pines and cypresses grow greener amid wind and snow.

Many people in the world attach themselves to those in power, then leave of their own accord when the other person falls from favor. A noble person is content with poverty; as time passes, affection naturally grows firm.

When power ebbs and can never be restored, those bound by firm affection still do not leave. Sometimes strangers seem like family, while family may grow distant as passersby.

Our intentions and conduct must accord with each other; only after drawing close can we clearly distinguish good from evil. There are always things in the world worth cherishing. Could there truly be no one under heaven who understands us?

Once we have smelled fragrant herbs mixed with foul weeds, we should realize that fine jade and common stone may be burned together. How can one attain a clear understanding of the ways of the world and preserve, for the long term, a warmth like that of a spring day in Luoyang?

Untitled Verses

In the past, I did not know how to manage external things and was misled by them. Now I refrain from restraining others, yet this too has angered them.

When external things mislead me, I can still explain myself; when I anger others, it is difficult to plead my case. I admitted my fault to others, and they forgave me.

Verses Without Wine

Ever since the new regulations took effect, I have often been troubled by the empty wine jar. Whenever friends and guests visit, all I can do is sit idly with them the whole day.

If I must beg others for wine, friends and relatives may gradually grow distant. If I must pawn my clothes to buy wine, how can I keep that up for long?

Reading Tao Yuanming’s “Returning Home”

“Come, let me return”—back to the fields and gardens, letting my nature live as it will. Though the events are past, the heart can be renewed. Has there never been anyone like this in the world? It is only a pity that such a person is so hard to encounter again.

As evening drew near, the author especially lamented the fading light. Seeing the plants grow anew, he rejoiced in their flourishing vitality. Yet more than six hundred years later, there were still people of leisure who followed in his footsteps and pursued his resolve to withdraw from public life.

I visited Nanyuan at the Mid-Autumn Festival, when the scenery around Tianqiao was especially pleasant. I went to see the Zhang brothers and met them in their secluded garden. Fond of drink, I lost track of time; by the time I noticed, night had fallen. So I stayed in that fairyland, like a crystal palace, and spent the night amid mist and rosy clouds.

I have loved seeking out quiet, secluded places since I was young. Every year, I visit Longmen four or five times. I never mind how often I make the journey there and back, for wealth and honors cannot hold me.

A few days ago, I took a leisurely excursion along the Yi River. After consulting the divination that night, I stayed in the stone building on Fragrant Hill. A cool breeze happened to rise, opening the heart and mind; through the misty drizzle, I was able to admire the late autumn scenery.

Returning to the City, Using the Earlier Rhyme Again

Carried along by the pleasure of the excursion, I went to Long Mountain in search of secluded beauty, as if I had stepped into a painting. It was a pity there was no fine wine with which to answer the lovely scene before me. I wanted to stay a little longer, but could not have my wish.

Another Poem

In early autumn, a fine rain brought a slight chill. I leaned on the railing of the East Ridge Pavilion, gazing out in every direction. I had not expected that, amid the enveloping haze, the person in the Pine Studio would be admiring the view before him as though it were a painting. (The Pine Studio is where An’s younger brother lives, by the west side of the river.)

In Reply to a Friend’s Poem Inscribed at Chancellor Zhang’s Hermitage

Chancellor Zhang once held the high office of one of the Three Ministers, and later enjoyed a long life. In this world, his good fortune and virtue were both exceptional. Though he built a thatched hermitage, he never forgot his sovereign. This place stands high on Mount Song, as if joining his own long life to the sovereign’s enduring reign.

A Letter Written on Someone Else’s Behalf to Cheng Zhengshu

Your esteemed father has taken up a post west of Jianmen, and your filial devotion in caring for him and bringing him joy sets an example for the world. The breadth and manner of governance practiced by Tang dynasty chancellors remain clearly visible even now; the old scenes of peace and contentment among the people of Shu still call forth fond memories.

At the place where boats moor beside Begonia Islet, and at the moment you reined in your horse by Golden Goose Bridge, I imagine you were already turning over the affairs of the realm in your mind. Among all under Heaven, who is there that truly does not forget the sovereign?

Written for Myself at Year’s End

In those days my ambitions soared, as if I would rise above the autumn sky; looking back now, I feel ashamed instead. When one forces an undertaking, it often becomes mired in trivial complications; when one has not truly grasped the principle, it seems boundless without end.

When the mind is still and one observes things, their subtle details are hard to conceal; in old age, reading brings deeper understanding. I converse at ease with guests, waving a horsetail whisk used for gesturing as we talk. Again and again I have been recommended for office, leading the lords and nobles to mistake me for someone fit to serve.

Fortunately, I have won the regard of worthy people, who do not heed my family’s complaints that I have yet to make my mark despite my age. How could I dare hope to become Zheng Zhen of Gukou, the Han scholar who lived in seclusion with virtue? And how could I be like the man from Shouling who abandoned his own way of walking to imitate another, only to end up walking awkwardly?

The Dragon and Tiger in the alchemical furnace—the symbols of Yin-Yang, Lead and Mercury, and the like—can no longer be bothered with keeping watch. The mountains and rivers on the chessboard no longer merit attention. Waking from sleep before the window on a clear day, I have only just risen from my pillow. The quiet birds call a few times, then their voices gradually fall silent.

The fine scenery of secluded streams and forests deserves to be repaid with poetry; when the season is pleasant for moonlight and breezes, it calls for wine in return. There are three hundred and sixty days in a year, and time flies like an arrow. How could I let idle sorrow arise in my heart?

A Song of Joy (written in 1071, the fourth year of Xining, when Shao Yong was sixty-one)

I have lived to sixty-one, yet my sinews and bones have not grown frail. I have already witnessed the passing of two generations; even if I were to die now, my life could hardly be called short.

Besides, I am generally healthy and free from worry and vexation. How could such days fail to bring me joy? There are still many fine days ahead.

Sent to Li Jingzhen, Grand Academician (a letter to Li Jingzhen, whose official title was “Grand Academician”)

The quiet couch before the flowers is a place for leisurely sleep; beside the bright window beneath the bamboo is a time for sitting alone. Why use words to speak of “peace in the heart and harmony in the world”? The kingfishers in the woods know it on their own.

A Song on the State of Things

A snake’s head and a scorpion’s tail are not alike, yet both can be called formidable, since they poison so many people. The scenery of the four seasons, with its breezes and moonlight, is endlessly lovely; do not let idle affairs disturb your heart.

Sent to Qin Bozhen, Minister of War in Bozhou

The terrain around the Three Rivers lies at the center, where Yang energy is just right. Spiritual energy gathers there, making its extraordinary flowers all the more luxuriant. Those who know how to appreciate fine flowers are not far away, and the flowers are not stingy with their fragrance.

The turmoil of the human world has accumulated over many years. Why furrow your brow and sigh before the flowers? If you worry over every single thing, your hair will eventually turn white with sorrow; even then, your heart may not be at ease.

There is feeling everywhere in the breezes and moonlight. Why not pour a cup of mellow wine and let your cheeks grow rosy? Yet people are forever suspicious and setting up barriers: if they think the balance of gain and loss does not suit them, they lay down one obstacle after another.

Though poor, I can still sleep soundly in the daytime. I have my own way of living freely with sorrows others find hard to bear. I often gain insights by pondering human affairs and observing things; by now, I have written a hundred or so new poems.

Where Heaven’s heart returns, there is no-mind. When the heart reaches the state of no-mind, it is nowhere to be found. If no-mind means that nothing happens, why then does gold arise in water?

The flowers’ reflections glow in the wine, filling the cup with a redness like their own. Drinking it down, I feel as though I am pouring the harmonious breath of Heaven and Earth into my chest. This is the feeling I love most: when lightly tipsy, I seem to merge with the Primordial Beginning, the original state before Heaven and Earth were formed.

Another poem sent separately

After Qin Shi Huang unified the realm and pacified the Nine Provinces, the empire soon returned to the Liu clan—that is, the Han dynasty. Others should stop vainly boasting of their talents and achievements; in the end, it is all wasted effort, leaving them busy until their hair turns white.

Thinking of an Old Friend

Though the cup is filled to the brim, it cannot ease my longing for an old friend far away. By the pond and beside the pavilion, willow branches hang long and slender; near the eaves and pillars, the fragrance of flowers is especially rich.

Thanking Professor Wang Pingfu for Tea Sent from His Flower-Viewing Place, and Matching the Original Rhyme¹

Mr. Wang of the Imperial Academy is skilled at appreciating flowers. He understands their subtle beauty, and so he also knows the wonders of fine tea. After viewing flowers in a garden filled with their fragrance, he brewed tea and sent it out to share with the most fortunate households in Tianjin.

Viewing Flowers in the Southern Garden

On the third day of the third month, flowers are in full bloom. At leisure, I climb the spring viewing terrace with friends and family. I do not usually get drunk, yet this time I do; even deep in my cups, I can still lift a great wine cup.

I raise my cup before the flowers and grow drunk before the flowers. Even in my drunkenness, I pluck a blossom and sing to myself. Flowers, if you see this white-haired old man, do not laugh at him; this old man has seen many a fine bloom.

Admiring Peonies Alone

It is easy to admire flowers, but hard truly to understand them. One who knows how to appreciate flowers leans alone against the railing, studying the peonies. In the nourishing power of rain and dew, one can see the vitality of creation; in their immortal-like grace, one can admire the peonies’ beauty.

Ordinary flowers are merely blooms that appear in their season; only those of extraordinary and peerless beauty can be called transcendent. To enjoy such good fortune is to have been richly blessed by fate. Seen this way, a lifetime spent at leisure admiring flowers is enough to satisfy the heart.

Asking Spring

In the third month, spring is about to depart; no entreaty can make it stay. Yet when spring leaves, its meaning is hard to convey. People often say that spring is going home. I wonder: where, exactly, is spring’s home?

When spring departs, where does it go? My heart is full of longing for spring, but I have not yet had the chance to express it. I would ask the orioles to find out why, but the cuckoo calls again: “Go back!”

When spring arrives, sorrow fades with the flowers; when spring departs, sorrow returns, and I can only try to dispel it with wine. Alas, my sorrow is too great and the wine too weak. I have fallen ill from grief over spring—do the flowers know?

A Gift to Myself in the Nest of Contentment

When things end with goodwill, their outcome can be called good. If everyone seeks only to gain by trickery, where is there any justice? If we stir up no conflict in the world, our hearts will naturally be spared the torment of ice and fire.

Disaster falls like autumn leaves before the first frost; wealth and honor are like spring flowers, whose red shines more brightly after the rain. The workings of Heaven and Earth are plain to see, yet people may not understand them. How much of rise and decline can human effort really bring about?

A Toast Before the Flowers

While spring remains, drink wine before the flowers. When spring has passed, the blossoms too will fade. If you face the flowers without drinking, your joyful mood will gradually disappear.

Drink while the flowers are in bloom; after a little wine, looking at them becomes all the more delightful. If you do not drink before the flowers, you will ultimately miss the joy of spring that comes but once each year.

After Writing the Jing of the Supreme Ultimate World-Ordering Principle (Huangji Jingshi)

When simplicity faded, human relationships and their principles began to take shape, and laws and institutions arose with them. Since Fuxi, the legendary ruler of remote antiquity, the years have changed without end, while the records in the classics are difficult to verify in full.

The Two Emperors established the tradition of abdication, and the Three Kings set down the governing order. The Five Hegemons contended for power through strategic advantage, while the Seven Warring States struggled against one another. The two Han dynasties rose like dragons and phoenixes; in the Three Kingdoms, rival powers pursued one another like tigers and wolves. The Western Jin briefly prized elegance and refinement, but later fierce powers rose from the north.

The Eastern Jin left behind a refined culture, whose renown reached the Song, Qi, and Liang dynasties. By the Chen dynasty, there was little more to say, and the situation south of the Yangtze was lamentable. Northern Wei rose amid the decline and disorder of the Western Jin, brought the realm under control, and ushered in a period approaching stability. Not long after moving its capital to Luoyang, however, it split into Eastern Wei and Western Wei.

Northern Qi flickered like a small flame, while Northern Zhou rose swiftly. The Sui unified the realm and passed its good fortune to the mighty Tang. The Five Dynasties changed in rapid succession, leaving the realm in turmoil. Without a true ruler emerging, how could the center be stabilized and the realm unified?

Across ten thousand li of territory, dynasties have risen and fallen for four thousand years. Five hundred rulers once ascended the throne, and seventy states expanded their borders. Some unified the realm, while others held only a single region; some founded their states one after another, and their periods of rule varied in length.

Some powers rallied just as they were about to fall, while others were supplanted by rising forces. Some calamities arose without warning; some good fortune arrived in the midst of danger. Some troubles came from warlords and powerful imperial clans that were meant to guard the realm; some internal rebellions began within the court. Some crises arose from neighboring states bound together like lips and teeth, while others had taken root so deeply that they seemed beyond cure.

Some things happen just as decline is setting in, while other calamities arrive suddenly in a time of prosperity. Some disasters arise without cause; some blessings come accompanied by ill omens.

Some troubles begin among the trusted attendants who stand guard nearby; some arise from internal strife. Some illnesses begin between the teeth and lips; others have reached the vitals, where they are grave and hard to cure.

A casual conversation may sow the seeds of trouble, and a feast may spark a quarrel. Once desire takes root, it brings conflicts of interest and causes people to harm one another.

The strong devour one another, and calamity spreads without end. Just as mountains and rivers divide the inner and outer realms, hills and tombs once more fall into desolation.

Thorns are hard to clear away, while orchids and fungi—images of worthy people and fine things—have yet to grow fragrant. Dragons and snakes race across the open plain; jade and stone alike are shattered on Kunlun’s jade-bearing heights.

Those skilled at forming arguments praise the Duke of Zhou and Confucius; those skilled at harmonizing the myriad things and leveling their differences praise Laozi and Zhuangzi. Yet words themselves inevitably bring trouble. How, then, can one truly be entirely free of attachment in the heart?

Drinking Together on the Path

What most people cherish is the clamor of worldly life; what my friends cherish is quiet elegance and fragrance.

This quiet elegance needs no music of drums and pipes; it naturally draws us close to the age of high antiquity. That age had nothing especially remarkable about it: only a harmonious spirit suffused Heaven and Earth.

Old friends from the same village are bound by deep affection, and are gifted in both learning and letters. The joy of gathering together for a day makes even the tenth month feel as warm as spring.

Luoyang is an ancient and celebrated capital, whose governance the Duke of Zhou once planned in detail. Its four seasons bring a pleasing balance of cold and heat, and its roads lead evenly and conveniently in every direction.

Every age has had its outstanding talents, so this place has always been home to many scholars and officials. As for its flowers and trees, nowhere in the world can compare.

To find such joy, see such a scene, and meet on such a day—all this, and the chance to laugh with abandon: how many people in this human world are so fortunate?

Our sincere feelings are firm enough to pierce metal and stone; our free-ranging talk could startle ghosts and spirits. In our eyes, Heaven and Earth are no more than a finger, while wealth and rank are like floating clouds.

When the government is clear and just, one can calmly put good governance into practice and bring peace to the people. In the leisure of the day, one can discuss plans for governing the realm. Better still, keep company with “Mr. Joy,” a name for wine, and admire “This Gentleman,” an elegant name for bamboo.

Even six hundred li of Shangyu land and forty thousand jin of gold could not buy this pleasure. What else, then, is worth mentioning?

By the time I was drunk enough to wear my headcloth backward, the moon had risen over the sea. As I rode back in a small cart with its load turned around, the old mountain man too had returned to Tianjin.

Beautiful things are seldom found in this world, and outstanding people are rarely seen. It cannot be easy, one imagines, for the workings of Heaven and Earth to bring forth such a person.

Only after a long time might one hear of his reputation; rarer still is the chance to see someone living in the same age. Mr. Chen and I were born in the same era, yet I can learn of him only from others. How can this be?

The severe drought lasted almost until winter, and even the local officials’ prayers for rain brought no welcome downpour. The four Zhang brothers came riding together like a flight of geese, bringing wine and food for a visit. Suddenly the snow fell heavily, and before long it had piled up a foot deep.

The wine glowed red in the light, and the guests’ joy was complete. At midnight they left from the area around Tianjin Bridge, and the place by the bridge at once fell quiet and still.

The old snow had not yet melted when new snow gathered before the gate. The flagstones before the steps froze like a silver bed; beneath the eaves, icicles hung like stalactites.

Even on clear days there was no brightness, while fierce winds howled and roared. Everyone had a tongue, yet the cold left them unable to speak.

In a single night, ten thousand trees seemed to bloom with white jade flowers, and Heaven and Earth turned silver. Dancers with slender waists, like fairies from the Moon Palace, neared the end of their dance; then, in the White Jade Hall, a fresh tune was called for.

The scholar beside his humble window held a book in his hands, while soldiers on the battlefield marched with sticks between their teeth. The recluse was so thin he could hardly withstand the cold; fortunately, he could often enjoy a cup of wine.

For those who love to drink themselves merry, is there no wine that can keep flowing for a thousand days? For those who cherish spring, flowers bloom through all four seasons. Wherever the little carriage passes, people rejoice; throughout Luoyang, every place feels like home.

Only when you find a kindred spirit in public life do you realize how rare such a bond is. How could one bear to lightly squander Luoyang’s springtime? Though we are separated by three thousand miles of rivers and lakes, please do not let our friends back home worry about us again and again.

In Reply to Du Guan Song’s “Asking for Plum Blossoms” (1072, the fifth year of Xining; Shao Yong was sixty-two)

Though my little garden has four kinds of plum blossom, none blooms in the twelfth month as plum blossoms do in Jiangnan. I often regret that the spirit of spring lacks a taste for elegance: before spring has even arrived, it will not let the plum blossoms bloom early.

The yellow and red plum blossoms by the eastern veranda are now in full bloom, so I composed a poem while seated and sent it to a friend.

The yellow and red plum blossoms bloom together only once a year. How many times in all can one witness such a sight? A person’s life lasts a hundred years; I am already sixty. Let’s stop talking about idle matters and raise a cup of wine first.

In Reply to Vice Director Ren’s “Remembering the Plum Blossoms”

How sad that plum blossoms open only to fade so soon. Once they wither, they are so forlorn that I cannot bear to look at them. Year after year, their fragrance stirs my heart; better to plant a few stalks of bamboo and sit at ease.

A Song for Early Spring

Flowers and trees each have their own beauty in the changing seasons; a thousand volumes of classics are my daily life. If someone asks where I dwell in retirement, I live in the Ward of Dao and De, the first household here.

The Weeping Willow

The weeping willow before my gate sways softly, rocked back and forth by the east wind. I know full well that I am old now, yet cannot help wondering whether I am still as I was in my youth.

A Song on the Utmost Spirit

Human beings are called the most spiritually endowed, and rulers the most exalted. In the bright realm, the sun and moon shine; in the shadowed realm, there are ghosts and spirits.

A Song on Humans and Ghosts

If we cannot even serve people well, how can we serve ghosts and spirits? Humans and ghosts may differ, but how could the principle be any different?

My Lifelong Dealings with Others

Throughout my life, I have never intended to let my relationships with others turn sour. I have never wronged anyone, and no one has harmed me.

A Song on Knowledge

Only what one sees with one’s own eyes is called “recognition”; only what one hears with one’s own ears is called “knowledge.” So why are those who truly recognize and know so often few in number throughout the world?

A Song Jotted Down on a Whim

When wind blows through the woods, not a branch can be still; when wind blows across a pond, not a ripple can settle. If neither woods nor pond can find peace, what are the birds perched there and the fish in the water to do?

A Song on Foreseeing Trouble

Servants oppress their masters, and foreign peoples invade the Central Plain. Since ancient times, people have known these things to be unjust, yet have found no way to put an end to them completely.

Two Poems Sent to Wang Xuanhui of the Three Cities

The wind in the forest blows across the pond, and its surface is never still for a moment. Neither the woods nor the pond’s edge is at peace—what, then, are the birds and fish to do?

A Chant on Foreseeing Trouble

Servants oppress their masters, and foreign peoples invade the Central Plains. Since ancient times, people have known this to be an injustice, yet there has been no way to put an end to it completely.

Two Poems Sent to Wang Xuanhui of Sancheng

Though life beneath the trees is humble, I often drink wine among the flowers. Of all the carefree pleasures in this world, I fear they belong only to those who live at ease.

Dust is rising along the road, while flowers in the wine pot are blooming just right. Why wait until my hair has turned completely white before writing poetry and retiring to seclusion?

A Chant on Benevolence and Sagehood

To grasp the principles completely is called “sagehood”; to spread blessings widely, as Heaven does, is called “benevolence.” These realms of benevolence and sagehood are so lofty and far-reaching—who in all the world would dare compare themselves to them?

In Reply to Academician Xing Heshu on Our Parting

The roads of this world stretch so far, as though the ends of the earth lay between us. When we meet, our minds understand one another without need for many words. You compare yourself to Zhuge Liang, the worthy minister who served his ruler, while I am truly no match for Huang Shigong, the recluse who taught military strategy to Zhang Liang.

In discussing principles, there are rises and declines, whether the matter is great or small; in speaking of changes in the times, there are beginnings and endings. A state must especially cherish talent and ability. It must never carelessly follow the path of the Western Jin. (In its later years, the Western Jin’s politics deteriorated, and the dynasty eventually fell.)

(Xing Shu, “As I Return to Hebei, I Bid Farewell to the Master”:

The Master embraces the Great Dao and lives in seclusion east of the city walls. In heart and deed alike, he stands beyond the choice between entering public life and withdrawing from it, moving with ease and understanding. I am often ashamed that, unlike Zhang Liang, I never met Huang Shigong beneath the Broken Bridge and received his guidance. I have also thought of how you, like Pang Degong, the recluse of the Eastern Han, were honored before his couch.

Through firsthand understanding, you have preserved the subtle truth within the Dao. I, for my part, entrust our enduring friendship to the kinship of our minds. Today we part, with north and south between us; all we hear is the horses’ mournful whinnying as they follow the wind, reluctant to leave.)

A Chant of Striking the Soil

People say there is another immortal realm inside a cave, but the immortals in the cave are probably only a legend. If one must wait for a elixir to be refined nine times before it is complete, then one must wait another thousand years to find the immortal bird with the red crest.

In the Land of Long Life, a thousand trees are in bloom; the Nest of Ease is filled with joy. With joy, flowers, and wine all around me, I find myself wondering whether I have already become an immortal in a cave.

A Chant on Spring’s Passing

Beautiful things are always hard to come by; all told, they last only a few days. First the wind troubles them, then the rain batters them down.

The splendid dream of wealth and rank has just ended, and the illusion of becoming an immortal has only just faded. Yet those who wander in spring do not know when to stop; they still linger, leaning against the red balustrade.

Flowers and Bamboo in the Southern Garden

The flower path lies close alongside the bamboo grove, and I go back and forth along it four or five times every day. So I widened the path a little, extending it into the grove, so that rainwater could wash along the bamboo path and the path could face the blossoms directly.

A person has just awakened from a life of intoxicating wealth and privilege, and seems only now to have returned to the human world from a dream among the immortals. Visitors do not know when to stop; they still lean against the red railing, reluctant to leave.

Flowers and Bamboo in the Southern Garden

The flower path lies close alongside the bamboo grove, and I go back and forth along it four or five times every day. So I widened the path a little, extending it into the grove, so the bamboo path would open toward the flowers.

The fragrance of flowers drifts from afar on my sleeves; layer upon layer of bamboo shadows falls across my wine cup. Who says an old man in the mountains cannot appreciate gentleness and warmth? I linger here for a long while, nestled among red blossoms and green bamboo.

Another Reply to Wang Xuanhui

The Confucian has joys of his own, but many people are unwilling to follow this path. If one takes meditation as a source of pleasure, it only adds another layer of dust to the mind.

Another

One who understands the Great Dao has no obstruction in the heart; everyone has a place where they can rest. Even an artificial flower can stir a person’s thoughts, so what, then, should count as a real flower?

“The Vast Blue Sky,” Sent in Reply to Li Shenyen, Longtu of Caozhou

The sky stretches vast and blue; people throughout the ages have gazed at it until sorrow wore out their hearts. The sun and moon come and go, and little changes in the scene. Yang Qi expands and Yin Qi contracts, each following its course without interfering with the other.

After a sudden peal of thunder, mountains and rivers seem to split apart. When sweet dew falls, plants and trees give off a fragrant scent. Spirits arise among dark mountain cliffs, while phoenixes—auspicious birds of legend—appear across peaceful countryside.

A thousand kinds of flowers fall in the spring rain; all the trees wither after a single night of frost. The principle behind it seems plain, yet is not easy to grasp. A worthy person must observe it closely and reflect on it in detail.

Five Poems from Beneath the Trees

Where does the true work of creation show favoritism? The plans of the foolish and inept are only small and limited. Just after my Peaceful Happiness Studio—Shaoyong’s name for his home—was built, I moved in. The rich, mellow broth of Great Harmony—here a reference to wine—has already made me a little tipsy.

I ride in a bamboo sedan chair, traveling to and fro for years in this land of peace and contentment. Then, leaning on my staff, I walk back to a village of abundance and security. Living in a peaceful age, I seem to have no worries; I let the wind blow through the few strands of my white beard.

In old age and frailty, one needs even more warmth and care; yet in the Peaceful Happiness Studio, spring has its own presence. I set all things outside my mind and lie down and rise at leisure. My limbs, too, are under my own command: when I wish to stretch, I stretch them freely.

When the flowers in the courtyard are in full bloom, I spread my cool mat beneath their shade. When snowflakes drift down from the eaves, I lay a soft cushion in the snow. Who says an old man in the mountains cannot enjoy life? He, too, can keep himself well and comfortable.

There is a drink, clear and mellow, called “Great Harmony” (Ta He), a name suggesting calmness and richness. After drinking just enough to feel a little tipsy, one feels the fullness of spring most keenly. Can it truly transform a person as a wondrous elixir does? Can it really let one ascend to immortality in broad daylight?

When my spirits lift, I rise and dance; when joy is too great for words, I sing aloud. Guests and friends, do not blame me for behaving without ceremony. When happiness surges in my heart, I simply cannot hold it back.

We greet one another and urge each other to drink, pouring the “Rosy Clouds” (Liuxia), the fabled wine of immortals. Our temples are white as autumn frost, our hair graying all over. Most of what we remember lies in the past; most of those we have known were old associates from the former official world.

Everyone praises how tall the great-grandchild has grown, then recalls stories from long ago. Their words are tender and attentive, their affection deep. Young people, do not laugh at the old for speaking at such length about small things.

I was born without ever having plowed a field myself, yet all year long I enjoy its harvest. I prepare wine and dishes according to my means, and find delight in everything. A leisurely stroll around ponds and garden pavilions becomes an excursion in its own right.

Wind and flowers, snow and moonlight: treasures worth a thousand pieces of gold. Bamboo groves by the water and mountains among the clouds: riches surpassing a fief of ten thousand households. If I wait for the Yellow River to run clear—a rare auspicious sign in ancient times—how many years will I have left to live? How much sorrow can these two brows still contain?

“A Song of Self-Reproach in the Peaceful and Happy Nest”

I do not rush about the dusty world in vain; I ask only that I make fewer mistakes, yet even this I often fail to do. Qu Yu, the statesman of Wei in the Spring and Autumn period, was known for correcting his faults in time. At fifty, he realized that he had been wrong in the previous forty-nine years. I reached that age in vain. Confucius read the Classic of Changes until the leather binding of his book broke three times; I, by contrast, wasted all those years.

My hair has turned white and can scarcely be dyed black again. Once the mind has become clear, there is no need to say more. Only pure Yang and harmonious Qi can refine jade, yet I still fear that I have not been polished enough and that my cultivation is not firm.

“Two Poems on the Flower Hermitage, in Reply to Duanming Junshi”

There is no need to decorate the flower hermitage with vermilion pillars and carved rafters. Layer upon layer of green shade provides beauty on its own. If those who come after wish to preserve its natural, unadorned charm, they should plant no more flowers and trees or add embellishments for their own sake.

Flowers fill the grounds before and behind the hermitage, opening in turn so that every season has its beauty. The master’s affairs are few and simple, and he often has time to rest at ease. I do not believe that the passing years can hasten his decline.

Natural scenery surpasses anything fashioned by human hands. Layer upon layer of leaves rests untouched by the wind, while green shade drapes all around. It is a pity that scholars in official robes have not yet left the ways of the world behind. Only in garments of lotus leaves, with a belt of fragrant orchid grass, would one be dressed to match such a scene.

Luoyang has fresh flowers in every season, and after the rain clears, the colors of autumn blooms are especially lovely. Who will share this pleasure with me? Sitting together as time passes, we lose ourselves in the moment and forget that the years are growing.

Visiting the Zhang Brothers at South Garden and Staying the Night

At Mid-Autumn, the scenery around Tianqiao is at its finest. I come to visit the Zhang brothers, who live in seclusion at South Garden—the name of their garden. Our drinking grows merry, and before we know it, night has fallen. So we stay amid the rosy clouds, beneath moonlight clear as crystal.

A Visit to Longmen with Junior Secretary Wang Anzhi

Traveling to Longmen with Junior Secretary Wang Anzhi, a government title.

I have always loved traveling to quiet, secluded places, and go to Longshan four or five times a year. I never count how many times I make the journey back and forth, for no fame or fortune is worth staying for.

For several days in a row, I leisurely explored the area around the Yi River. At night, I planned to go on to Xiangshan and spend the night in the Stone Tower. The cool breeze opened my heart and mind even more; amid mist and rain, I admired the scenery of late autumn.

On returning to the city, I wrote another poem using the previous rhyme

Following my delight, I wandered through all the beautiful, secluded scenery of Longshan, as though I were inside a painting. I only regretted having no fine wine with which to honor the lovely scene before me. Just as I wished to linger a little longer, I had to leave.

Another poem

In early autumn, a light rain brought a faint chill. Leaning on the railing of a pavilion on the eastern ridge, I looked around at the scenery. I never expected that through the drifting mist, the people in Songzhai would look just like figures in a painting.

(Songzhai was where Anzhi’s younger brother lived, west of the river.)

A poem in response to another’s inscription at the Hermitage of Minister Zhang

After serving as one of the Three Ministers, an honorific title for the highest officials of ancient times, Minister Zhang was granted yet more years of life. In the blessings and virtue of this world, he surely deserves to be counted among the foremost. Though he built a thatched hut and withdrew from public life, he did not forget his ruler. The heights of Mount Song seem to await his long stay.

A letter written on someone else’s behalf and sent to Cheng Zhengshu

Your father was appointed to serve west of Jianmen, and you cared for him with great devotion. Your deep filial conduct is worthy of serving as an example to the world. The governing achievements of the worthy ministers of the Tang dynasty are still vivid today, and the old scenes of the people of Shu living in peace and joy remain in our memory.

At the place where boats moor beside Begonia Islet, and when dismounting by Golden Goose Bridge, I imagine you were already anxiously contemplating the affairs of the realm. If anyone is loyal to the ruler and never ceases to think of the state, who could it be but you?

Written to myself at year’s end

In my youth, my ambitions soared as though I would rise above the autumn sky; looking back now, I am truly ashamed. What is pursued by force eventually seems trivial; when the truth of a matter has not been truly grasped, thoughts go on without end.

When one quietly observes things, even their most subtle aspects are hard to conceal. In old age, reading brings an even deeper understanding. I converse leisurely with my guests, turning a fly whisk in my hand; yet the successive memorials recommending me have led dukes, ministers, marquises, and lords to mistake me for someone possessing the corresponding talents and virtue.

Thanks to the appreciation of wise and eminent people, who overlook my family’s complaints about my old age. How could I dare hope to become as famous as Zheng Zhen of Gukou? And how could I be like the youth of Shouling, who tried to imitate another’s way of walking and forgot the steps he already knew?

I can no longer attend to the dragons and tigers in the alchemical furnace, symbols in Daoist Neidan of the transformations of Yin-Yang, Jing, and Qi. Nor do I care to work out the mountains and rivers on the chessboard. On a sunny day I slept beside the window; when I awoke, the birds’ quiet calls had just fallen silent.

The lovely sights of mountains, forests, and springs are worth exchanging for a poem; a fine hour of clear wind and bright moon is just right for welcoming with wine. The three hundred and sixty days flash past like arrows. How can I let needless sorrows occupy my heart?

“A Song of Joy”

I am already sixty-one, yet my sinews, bones, and body have not grown frail. I have lived through two generations; even if I were to die, it would hardly be an untimely death. Besides, my health is still fair, and I have no troubles or worries. How could I not be glad? There are still many fine days ahead.

Sent to Li Jingzhen, Grand Academician

I lounge quietly on a couch before the flowers, and sit alone by a bright window beneath the bamboo. What words could capture “Yutai”—a composed bearing and a peaceful mind? The kingfisher in the woods knows.

“A Song on the State of Affairs”

The snake’s head and the scorpion’s tail are not alike. They show their skill by poisoning many people. The wind and moon in every season hold endless beauty; do not let trivial matters disturb your heart.

Sent to Qin Bozhen, Director of War in Bozhou

The land of the Three Rivers lies where harmonious Qi gathers, and there, naturally, strange and beautiful flowers flourish. Those who truly understand flowers are not far away; when fine flowers bloom, they do not hold back their full fragrance.

Human affairs are tangled and have been so for years. Why furrow your brow and sigh before the flowers? A thousand calculations will only turn your hair white, while your heart remains unsettled.

Between wind and moon there is endless feeling; pour a cup of fine wine and let your cheeks grow red. Yet people’s hearts breed suspicion and keep one another at a distance, raising barrier after barrier over questions of gain and loss.

Though poor, I can still sleep each day until the sun is high. Sorrows that others cannot bear bring me contentment. I am always observing and refining my understanding of worldly affairs, and often find something to take delight in; I have already written more than a hundred new poems.

When the Way of Heaven reaches the moment of “Return,” it is a state of mind without intention. When the mind reaches this state, there is nowhere to seek it. If having no intention means that nothing happens, then why can gold still arise in water?

Flower shadows are reflected in the wine, tinting the full cup a lovely red. As I drink, it is as though I pour the harmony of Heaven and Earth into my heart as well. I love this feeling most: in a gentle intoxication, I seem to merge with the state that existed at the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

A Poem Sent in Reply

When the heart of Heaven reaches the moment of “Return,” it is a state of mind without intention. When the mind reaches this state, there is nowhere to seek it. If having no intention means that nothing happens, then why can gold still arise in water?

Flower shadows are reflected in the wine, tinting the full cup a lovely red. As I drink, it is as though I pour the harmony of Heaven and Earth into my heart as well. I love this feeling most: in a gentle intoxication, I seem to merge with the state that existed at the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

A Poem Sent in Reply

Though Qin Shi Huang unified the Nine Provinces—the realm—once the land was pacified, it soon passed into the hands of the Liu clan. There is no need for others to boast vainly of their momentary power. In the end, they have only labored in vain and grown white-haired.

Thinking of an Old Friend

Though the fine wine fills the cup to the brim, my old friend is a thousand miles away. How can I ease my longing? By the pond pavilion, willow branches droop in delicate strands; flowers near the eaves and pillars bloom, their fragrance all the richer.

Thanking Professor Wang Pingfu for Tea Sent from the Flower-Viewing Place, and Replying in the Original Rhyme¹

The scholar of the Imperial Academy is skilled at recognizing flowers. Having grasped their subtle beauty, he then savors it through tea. He brews tea amid the fragrance of a hundred blossoms, then shares it with the foremost household in Tianjin.

Viewing Flowers in the Southern Garden

On the third day of the third month, the flowers are in full bloom. At leisure, I climb the Spring Terrace with friends and family. Usually I do not get drunk, but today I do. After brewing tea amid the fragrance of countless blossoms, I share it with the foremost household in Tianjin.

Viewing Flowers in the Southern Garden

On the third day of the third month, the flowers are in full bloom. At leisure, I climb the Spring Terrace with friends and family. Usually I do not get drunk, but today I do; even more dazed with wine, I can still raise a large cup.

I raise my cup before the flowers and drink myself drunk before the flowers. Still holding a branch after I am drunk, I sing freely. Flowers, if you see this white-haired old man, do not laugh at me; in a lifetime, a white-haired man has seen his share of splendid flowers.

Admiring the Peonies Alone

It is easy to admire flowers, but hard truly to understand them. Those who understand them stand alone, leaning against the railing to gaze. In the dew and rain that nourish all things, one can observe the work of Heaven and Earth; in flowers of immortal quality, one can study their beauty up close.

Ordinary flowers may be called fashionable, but only flowers of extraordinary and peerless beauty can be called transcendent. I should also know that my good fortune is no small thing. All in all, the ease and freedom of my life are fitting reward for such good fortune.

Asking Spring

Spring comes and goes again; there is no way to make it stay. Though spring departs, the feeling of spring it leaves behind is hard to dispel. When people speak of spring, they always say it will return home. But where, exactly, is spring’s home?

Spring must eventually return somewhere, yet countless laments for its passing remain unspoken. I would ask the oriole why spring has departed, but the cuckoo calls out, “You should go back, after all.”

When spring arrives, sorrow fades as the flowers bloom; when spring departs, sorrow drives one to drink. I can only resent that sorrow is so great and wine so weak. Do the flowers know that I pine for spring?

Written for Myself in the Nest of Contentment

When all things are allowed to fulfill their nature well, they ultimately become beautiful. But if matters are arranged through clever schemes, how can that be called just? If we do not stir up conflict in the world, the heart will naturally be spared the torment of ice and fire.

Calamities fall like autumn leaves before the frost arrives; wealth and rank shine like spring blossoms after rain. The workings of Creation are plain to see, yet people may not understand them. How much of the withering and flourishing of plants and trees can human effort truly control?

Urging One to Drink Before the Flowers

While spring remains, one should drink before the flowers. Once spring has departed, the flowers too will fade. If one faces the flowers without drinking, the joy of the moment will gradually ebb away.

Drink while the flowers are in bloom; after getting drunk, admiring them is all the more delightful. If one does not drink before the flowers, one will ultimately let slip the joy of viewing spring that comes but once a year.

Written After Reading the Book of the Supreme Ultimate and the Ordering of the World

After our unadorned nature had dispersed, the ways of human relations were established; systems and laws began to take shape in the time of Fuxi, the legendary ruler of antiquity. The years have passed in succession, and books have been handed down, yet it is difficult to establish the details with certainty.

The Two Emperors, usually identified as Yao and Shun, began the practice of abdication; the Three Kings, founding rulers of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou, established the guiding principles. The Five Hegemons rose to dominance through force and strategic advantage, while the Seven Warring States contended for supremacy.

The two Han dynasties soared like dragons and phoenixes; the Three Kingdoms period saw tigers and wolves racing after one another. The Western Jin once prided itself on its refined culture, but later rival powers arose along the northern frontier.

The Eastern Jin carried on that refined tradition, whose renown spread in turn to the Song, Qi, and Liang. By the Chen dynasty, there was little left to praise, and the political situation south of the Yangtze was cause for sorrow.

The Northern Wei rose after the Western Jin had fallen into decline and chaos, and quelled the warfare, bringing the realm close to stability for a time. Not long after its capital was moved to Luoyang, word came again that war was about to break out in the east and west.

Northern Qi relayed messages by beacon fires, while Later Zhou rose swiftly like starlight. The Sui unified the realm and passed its good fortune to the powerful Tang dynasty.

The Five Dynasties succeeded one another like travelers coming and going in an inn, while the realm remained in turmoil without end. If no true ruler were to emerge, how could the Central Plain ever be brought to peace?

The realm stretched ten thousand li, and over four thousand years it saw dynasties rise and fall. Some five hundred rulers took the throne in succession, while more than seventy states expanded their territories.

Some unified the realm, while others held only a corner of it. Some founded dynasties in turn, while their fortunes lasted for very different lengths of time.

Some rose up when their states were on the verge of collapse; others seized the realm when its power was at its height. Some met with disaster for no apparent reason, while good fortune came to others amid ill omens.

Some calamities came from the outer vassal states or ministers meant to guard the royal house; some upheavals began within the palace walls. Some troubles arose from neighboring states, bound together like lips and teeth; in other cases, the root of the affliction had already sunk deep into the vitals, beyond cure.

A cause for trouble might be planted in a moment of laughter and conversation; a banquet might become the beginning of a battlefield. Once desire stirred, people might harm one another over profit and loss.

Powerful forces vied to swallow one another, and calamities multiplied without end. The rivers and mountains had only just been divided into boundaries, yet the burial mounds had already grown desolate again.

Thorns were hard to uproot completely; before orchids could be planted, they had already failed to bloom. Dragons and serpents raced across the plains, and even the precious jade of Mount Kunlun was shattered along with them.

Among those skilled in establishing teachings were the Duke of Zhou and Confucius; Laozi and Zhuangzi, by contrast, advocated seeing all things as equal. Yet words themselves can become an affliction. How, then, can the mind entirely forget words?

A Gathering over Wine on the Way

What most people enjoy is noise and bustle; what my friends enjoy is quiet elegance and fragrance.

This refined pleasure needs neither drums nor flutes, yet seems to bring us close to ancient times. There is nothing especially mysterious about those ancient times: it is simply that the harmony of Heaven and Earth was always flowing through the world.

Old neighbors share deep bonds, and my friends are talented, skilled in writing. When we visit and gather for a day, it is as though spring has suddenly arrived in the tenth month.

Luoyang has been a renowned city since ancient times, and the Duke of Zhou once laid out its plan in detail. The cycle of cold and heat through the four seasons is well ordered, and the roads leading in all directions are well placed.

Through the ages, this city has never lacked gifted and accomplished people; it has long been known for its many scholars and officials. As for the abundance of its flowers and trees, no other place under Heaven can compare.

In such a landscape, at such a time, how many people in the world can laugh with such abandon?

With a pure and upright heart, his words carry such force that they can move metal and stone; his bold discourse can even astonish ghosts and spirits. To him, Heaven and Earth are no more than matters within the reach of his hand, while wealth and rank are as weightless as drifting clouds.

In an age of good government, he could attend calmly to ruling the realm and bringing peace to the people, with leisure even in the daytime. How many people in the world can laugh so freely?

With a pure and upright heart, his words carry such force that they can move metal and stone; his bold discourse can even astonish ghosts and spirits. To him, Heaven and Earth are no more than matters within the reach of his hand, while wealth and rank are as weightless as drifting clouds.

In an age of good government, he could calmly manage the realm and plan affairs of state. Better to keep company with “Mr. Joy” (an elegant name for wine), then share quiet pleasure with “Sir This” (an elegant name for bamboo).

Six hundred li of Shangyu and forty thousand jin of gold could not buy such happiness. What, then, is there to say of the other things outside oneself?

Drunk, he wears his headcloth backward, as if the moon were rising over the sea. Riding in a little cart with its passenger seated backward, the old mountain recluse returned to Tianjin—the poet’s home.

Thinking of Chen Zhimo of Zhengzhou, I lament that he has passed away, while I had no chance to meet him.

The finest things in the world must be exceptional; people of rare and outstanding talent must be few. Only the creative power of Heaven and Earth could bring such a person into being. Surely that is no easy task.

Though many generations have passed, we can still hear of his reputation; those born in the same age may even see him with their own eyes. Mr. Chen and I lived in the same era, yet I could only hear of him from others. Why was I denied the chance to meet him?

In thanks to the four Zhang brothers, who braved the snow and brought food and wine to visit

Drought had lasted through nearly the whole winter, and the prefect’s prayers for rain had brought no result. The four Zhang brothers came riding side by side, arranged like a flight of geese. Suddenly the snow began to fall, and soon lay a foot deep.

The wine glowed red in the cups, and the guests’ joy could not be put into words. At midnight, everyone left Tianjin—the poet’s home—and an extraordinary stillness fell all around.

Ode to the Great Cold

The old snow has not yet melted, and new snow has piled up before the door. Ice on the steps lies like a silver couch; beneath the eaves hang icicles like stalactites.

Even the clear sun has lost its brilliance, and the cold wind howls fiercely. Everyone has a tongue, yet the cold leaves no one able to speak.

In response to Li Shenyan, Academician of the Dragon Diagram Pavilion, on the heavy snow

Overnight, a thousand trees seem to bloom with jade flowers, and all between Heaven and Earth turns white. The moon maiden’s slender waist dances until the music ends; in the deep halls of white jade, another tune begins.

The scholar in his humble hut, with its broken window, studies with a book in hand. On the battlefield, soldiers hold sticks between their teeth to keep out the cold. The recluse is so thin that the chill nearly lays him low; fortunately, he can still enjoy a cup of wine from time to time.

The Little Cart Journey

In the height of wine’s warmth, is there not fine wine enough to drink for a thousand days? If we cherish the spring, there are flowers that bloom in all four seasons. Wherever the little carriage passes, people rejoice; throughout Luoyang, every place feels like home.

Matching the Rhyme of the Censor of Zhejiang, Ren, Director of Finance

In my official career, I sought a kindred spirit, and at last my wish has been fulfilled. How could I lightly forsake the springtime in Luoyang? Though three thousand miles of rivers and lakes lie between us, let us not make our friends back home keep thinking of us with such longing.

In Harmony with Director Song’s Request for Plum Blossoms — Fifth Year of Xining (1072; Shao Yong, aged sixty-two)

Though my little garden has four kinds of plum, they are not like the plums of Jiangnan, which bloom to welcome spring in the twelfth month. I often regret that the Spirit of Spring, Dongjun, lacks an elegant sensibility and is so slow to send spring early.

The Yellow and Red Plums in the East Pavilion Are in Bloom; Written at a Gathering and Presented to a Friend

We see yellow and red plums bloom together only once a year. How many times can such a pair bloom? I am now sixty, and more than half of a hundred years of life has passed. Let other matters wait; for now, let us raise our cups and drink.

In Harmony with Vice Director Ren’s Recollection of Plum Blossoms

I grieve that plum blossoms fade so soon after blooming. Once the flowers have fallen, they wither and scatter, and I cannot bear to look closely. Every year their fragrance stirs my heart; better to plant a few bamboo stalks at leisure.

A Verse on Early Spring

Flowers, grasses, and trees show different scenes through the four seasons; a thousand volumes of scripture are my daily life. If anyone asks where I dwell in retirement, it is the foremost home in Daode Ward.

Drooping Willow

The willow before my gate hangs softly down, swaying back and forth in the east wind. I have forgotten that I am now old, and find myself wondering whether I am still a young man.

Verse on the Most Numinous

Humans are called the most numinous of beings, and a ruler the most exalted of people. In the bright realm, the sun and moon shine; in the shadowed realm, ghosts and spirits dwell.

Verse on Humans and Ghosts

If we cannot properly serve people, how can we serve ghosts and spirits? Humans and ghosts may differ, but how could the principles that govern them be different?

On My Lifelong Friendships

In all my life, I have never had a friendship with anyone turn sour. If I do no wrong by others, how could they do wrong by me?

On My Lifelong Friendships

In all my life, I have never had a friendship with anyone turn sour. If I do no wrong by others, how could they do wrong by me?

Throughout my life, I have never set out to harm anyone in my dealings with others. I have never wronged anyone, and no one has ever harmed me.

A Reflection on Knowledge

What the eyes see is called “recognition”; what the ears hear is called “knowledge.” But how many people in the world truly possess both insight and real knowledge?

An Occasional Reflection

The wind stirs the woods, and the branches and leaves are never still for a moment. It blows across the pond, and the ripples never settle. If neither the woods nor the pond can find peace, what are the birds nesting there and the fish in the water to do?

A Reflection on Trouble Ahead

Servants oppress their masters; peoples from the frontier invade the Central Plain. Since ancient times, people have known this to be unjust, yet have found no way to put an end to it completely.

Two Poems Sent to Wang Xuanhui of the Three Cities

Living beneath the trees, my dwelling may be humble, but I often drink wine before the flowers. Perhaps all the carefree pleasures in the world belong to those who live at ease.

Dust swirls along the road, while the flowers in the wine jar bloom at their best. Why wait until my hair has turned completely white before writing poems and retiring to seclusion?

A Reflection on Benevolence and Sagehood

To bring principle fully to light is called “sagehood”; to shelter and nurture all things as Heaven does is called “benevolence.” But who can truly be called benevolent and sage? No one in the world dares compare with such a person.

In Reply to Academician Xing Heshou’s Farewell

The roads of the world stretch so far, as if the distant East lay beyond reach. When we meet, there is no need for many words: our thoughts are already in accord. You compare yourself to Zhuge Liang, while I am far from being the Yellow Stone Elder you call me. Zhuge Liang was a renowned minister of the Three Kingdoms period; the Yellow Stone Elder was a revered figure in legend who is said to have given Zhang Liang a book on military strategy.

When we discuss the Way and its principles, we consider times of prosperity and decline alike, without regard to scale. When we speak of changing circumstances, we must see where they begin and where they end. A state’s choice of capable people and its use of their talents deserve particular care. Do not lightly repeat the mistakes of the Western Jin, which fell into decline through poor appointments and political disorder.

(Xing Shu, “On Returning to Hebei, I Take Leave of My Teacher”:

The Master holds the Great Way in his heart and lives in seclusion east of the wall. He has forgotten both his outward conduct and his inner thoughts, and moves freely between public service and retirement. I often feel ashamed, beneath the ruined bridge, that I am not like the young man who knew how to recognize worth. I have also recalled how you once visited Pang Gong at his bedside. The story beneath the bridge tells how Zhang Liang met the Yellow Stone Elder and received his guidance; Pang Gong was the Eastern Han recluse Pang Degong.

You have grasped the subtlety through what you saw with your own eyes, and through a meeting of hearts have entrusted your affection to a long friendship. After we part today, north and south will lie between us. The horses whinny softly, as if reluctant to part.)

A Song of Striking the Earth

People say there is another world of immortals in a grotto, but the immortals within it may be no more than a tale. If one waits for the elixir to be perfected, it must undergo nine cycles of refinement; if one hopes for the aid of the red-crested immortal bird, one must wait a thousand years.

In the Land of Long Life, a thousand trees bloom; the Nest of Ease is full of joy. “Nest of Ease” was the home of Shao Yong and is also a common expression for a comfortable, contented life. With joy, flowers and trees, and fine wine, I rather suspect that I have already become an immortal in a grotto.

A Song on Spring’s Departure

Beautiful things never last for long; all told, they endure only a few days. First the wind scatters them, then the rain beats them down.

Wealth and rank are like a drink: one has only just sobered up. Life among the immortals is like a dream: one has only just returned to reality. Yet those out for pleasure do not know when to stop, and linger still, leaning against the vermilion railings.

Flowers and Bamboo in the Southern Garden

The paths among the flowers and the trails through the bamboo run close together, and every day I walk them four or five times. So I extended the flower path into the bamboo grove and planted flowers beside the bamboo trail, hoping that even while walking among the bamboo I might see blossoms.

The scent of flowers drifts far on my sleeves; layer upon layer of bamboo shadows is reflected in my wine cup. Who says a mountain recluse lacks tenderness and refinement? He spends long hours in the company of these red flowers and green bamboo.

A Further Reply to Wang Xuanhui

Our Confucian tradition has its own way to peace and happiness, yet most people refuse to follow it. If one treats Chan practice as a source of joy, it only adds another layer of mental dust—the attachments and troubles of the mind.

Another

The truly enlightened have no obstruction in their hearts, and everyone has a place where they can settle and make a life. Even artificial flowers can stir the mind, so what, then, counts as a real flower?

“Song of the Vast Heavens,” Sent in Reply to Li Shiyan, Court Draftsman of Caozhou

Heaven and earth stretch out in boundless vastness; throughout the ages, people have gazed upon them until sorrow filled their hearts. The sun and moon wheel on, never changing in the slightest; Yang unfolds and Yin contracts, each without hindering the other.

After the thunder crashes, mountains and rivers seem to split apart; when sweet dew falls, plants and trees give off their fragrance. Ghostly beings emerge among shadowed mountain crags, while in the peaceful, open countryside one may glimpse the luan, an auspicious bird of legend.

Countless blossoms fall in the late spring rain, and all the trees wither under a single night’s autumn frost. The truth of this is plainly before us, yet it is hard to understand fully; a wise person must still observe it with care.

Five Poems Beneath the Trees

Why would the power of Creation, in bringing all things into being, allow room for favoritism? Those inept at planning can accomplish only so much. Deep within the Nest of Ease and Happiness, just risen from bed, I sip the rich, full-bodied Soup of Great Harmony, and already feel a little tipsy.

I am old now. To reach an immortal land such as “Long Life Country,” it seems I would need someone to carry me there in a bamboo sedan chair. To return to “Ever-Ripe Village,” I would still have to lean on a staff and walk slowly. Now I live in peace and security, with nothing to trouble me. I let the wind stir my few white whiskers and give it no thought.

An old body needs warmth and comfort; in my cozy nest, spring has its own presence. I set everything aside, lounging and rising at ease, stretching my limbs however I please.

When flowers fill the courtyard, I spread a mat in the shade to keep cool. When snow drifts past the eaves, I lay out soft cushions and rest. Who says an old man in the mountains cannot arrange a pleasant life? I, too, know how to make myself comfortable and free.

There is a wine called “Great Harmony,” light and mellow. A gentle intoxication is when spring feels most abundant. Can drinking it transform me as an elixir would? Can it make me an immortal who ascends to heaven in broad daylight?

When joy reaches its height, I still dance; when delight leaves me speechless, I sing. Guests and friends, do not blame me for ignoring the rules of ceremony. Happiness surges in my heart, and I can hardly contain it.

We invite one another to drink the immortals’ wine, “Rosy Clouds.” Our temples are white as autumn frost, and our hair has grown thin and untidy. Most of what we remember happened long ago; the people we speak of are mostly old officials from the past.

Everyone praises the company of great-grandchildren today, then recalls old stories from years gone by. Their affectionate reminders are warm and heartfelt. Young people, do not laugh when the old speak at length and in detail.

I was never born to farm, yet year after year I have lived in the security of a harvest. I take pleasure in what suits my circumstances: even plain food and wine are enough. I stroll wherever I please, into a waterside pavilion or a garden, and that is an outing.

Wind, flowers, snow, and moonlight are treasures beyond price; water, bamboo, clouds, and mountains seem as grand as a domain of ten thousand households. How long can anyone live waiting for the Yellow River to run clear? How much sorrow can the space between one’s brows contain?

A Song of Self-Reproach in the Cozy Nest

I do not waste my days rushing about in the dusty world. I only hope to make fewer mistakes, though even that may be beyond me. I let the years slip by without following Qu Yuan’s example of reviewing his mistakes every five years from the age of forty, and I missed the age at which Master Kong, in his later years, read the Book of Changes.

With white hair, I am no longer likely to win anyone’s recognition. Once the mind has become clear and open, there is little left to say. Only the utmost Yang Qi can refine jade, yet I still worry that the trials I have endured have not made me firm enough.

Two Poems in Harmony with Junshi on the Flower Hermitage

There is no need to adorn the place with red pillars and carved rafters; dense layers of shade will naturally spread overhead. If those who come after wish to carry on this natural charm, they need only plant flowers and trees and add an air of refinement. They should not resort to deliberate carving and ornamentation.

Terms and context: “Cozy Nest” was Shao Yong’s name for his home, and it also commonly refers to a life of leisure and contentment. “Great Harmony” and “Rosy Clouds” are both poetic names for fine wine, with an immortal flavor. The references to Qu Yuan’s recognition of his mistakes and Confucius’s reading of the Book of Changes evoke a state of mind devoted to reflecting on one’s life and cultivating oneself in old age.

Flowers fill the grounds before and behind the hermitage, opening one after another; the scenery is beautiful in every season. The master has few cares and often sits quietly at rest, unconcerned that the passing years may bring old age.

Sima Guang’s added verse says: “What nature creates surpasses what people arrange. Though no wind stirs them, countless leaves hang green and lush all around.” It is a pity that those dressed in official robes have yet to leave the ways of the world. Only by changing into garments made of lotus leaves and tying a belt of fragrant orchid grass can one be worthy of such natural beauty.

In Luoyang, flowers bloom in every season. After the rain clears, their colors appear especially vivid in autumn. Who will share this pleasure with me? Sitting quietly before the flowers as the years turn, I seem not to notice that youth is fading.

The Siku Quanshu edition reads: “One would not believe that the passing years could actually make a person grow old.”