Classic Chinese Poetry

I look down on the Twelve City Streets:—
Red dust flanked by green trees!
Coaches and horsemen alone fill my eyes;
I do not see whom my heart longs to see.
K’ung T’an has died at Lo-yang;
Yüan Chēn is banished to Ching-mēn.
Of all that walk on the North-South Road
There is not one that I care for more than the rest!

(A.D. 772-846)
Po Chü-i was born at T’ai-yüan in Shansi. Most of his childhood was spent at Jung-yang in Honan. His father was a second-class Assistant Department Magistrate. He tells us that his family was poor and often in difficulties.
He seems to have settled permanently at Ch’ang-an in 801. This town, lying near the north-west frontier, was the political capital of the Empire. In its situation it somewhat resembled Madrid. Lo-yang, the Eastern city, owing to its milder climate and more accessible position, became, like Seville in Spain, a kind of social capital.
Soon afterwards he met Yüan Chēn, then aged twenty-two, who was destined to play so important a part in his life. Five years later, during a temporary absence from the city, he addressed to Yüan the following poem:

Since I left my home to seek official state
Seven years I have lived in Ch’ang-an.
What have I gained? Only you, Yüan;
So hard it is to bind friendships fast.
We have roamed on horseback under the flowering trees;
We have walked in the snow and warmed our hearts with wine. We have met and parted at the Western Gate
And neither of us bothered to put on Cap or Belt.
We did not go up together for Examination;
We were not serving in the same Department of State.

The master of the house has a crane in a cage;
For long years it has looked out through the bars.
It remembers the high flights among the clouds;
It hates the narrow space of the wooden cage.

I came by and took pity on its captive state;
I broke the lock and let it fly away.
It flapped its wings and soared into the sky;
It did not look back at its old master’s house.
Now it flies over the peaks of the southern mountains,
Free at last from the burdens of the earth

Living in retirement beyond the world
I express my joy in a silent song.
The valley wind blows the cold skirts of my gown;
The mountain streams wash my dusty feet.

I sit on a rock and watch the white clouds;
I lie under the pines and listen to the wind.
The worldly thoughts that once troubled my mind
Have vanished like smoke into the air.

The spring wind blows from the east;
It blows on the courtyard trees.
The moon rises out of the sea;
It shines on the bedroom door.

At this season my heart is full of thoughts;
I sit alone in the empty hall.
The lamp goes out, the night is far spent;
I hear the sound of the falling dew.