The world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me.
The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered.
No spring breeze even at this late date,
Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut.
Short Walk Song
By Cao Cao of Three Kingdoms
Translated by Laijon Liu 20100103
Hold wine cup I sing:
How shall our life be?
Like the morning dew,
With the days of grief.
Even if we are fervent,
But sorrows never fade.
What to solve sadness?
Probably only drinks.
The long scholar belt
Tied my will and heart.
For talents and friends
I sigh and chant to now.
Like a deer I call n call,
In the green field I look
For all my good guests
I play my music for all.
Oh the moon so bright
And when can I pluck?
Now my sorrow comes
That it will never cease.
By the road and the path
They come lowly to dwell.
Between farewell n feast,
My heart misses their grace
Bright moon n sparse stars,
The crows flying to south.
They spiral over the trees
To find a branch to perch
Mountain or hills, tall or low
Ocean or lakes, deep or small
The great king bows n prays
For the good service of all!
In the mountains it's cold.
Always been cold, not just this year.
Jagged scarps forever snowed in
Woods in the dark ravines spitting mist.
Grass is still sprouting at the end of June,
Leaves begin to fall in early August.
And here I am, high on mountains,
Peering and peering, but I can't even see the sky.
Against the City of the Yellow Dragon
Our troops were sent long years ago,
And girls here watch the same melancholy moon
That lights our Chinese warriors --
And young wives dream a dream of spring,
That last night their heroic husbands,
In a great attack, with flags and drums,
Captured the City of the Yellow Dragon.
There is an old saying:
The bamboo shadow cannot dust off the steps.
The sun penetrates the pond leaving no trace on the water.
Our Scholar says :
Though the stream flows swiftly by, the scene is forever still.
While the flowers are wilting rapidly, my mind is cool.
Treats things this way and how at ease I would be.
On Mirror Lake outspread for miles and miles,
The lotus lilies in full blossom teem.
In fifth moon Xi Shi gathers them with smiles,
Watchers o'erwhelm the bank of Yuoye Stream.
Her boat turns back without waiting moonrise
To yoyal house amid amorous sighs.
From the north tower the western sky is clear,
Mountains joined by surging river better than painting.
Torrent's gush, swish flight of arrows,
Crescent moon over ramparts, bow arched taunt.
I dangle my fishing rod like old man Lu,
Strive for some tranqillity on the border.
But why so many brutal border wars?
Until now Tartar flutes complain without end.
Visiting the Temple of Auspicious Fortune Alone on Winter Solstice
Deep at the bottom of the well no warmth has yet returned,
The rain which sighs and feels so cold has dampened withered roots.
What sort of man at such a time would come to visit the teacher?
As this is not a time for flowers, I find I've come alone.
INSCRIBED ON THE WALL OF AN INN
NORTH OF DAYU MOUNTAIN
They say that wildgeese, flying southward,
Here turn back, this very month....
Shall my own southward journey
Ever be retraced, I wonder?
...The river is pausing at ebb-tide,
And the woods are thick with clinging mist --
But tomorrow morning, over the mountain,
Dawn will be white with the plum-trees of home.
The Yangtze flows east
A thousand ages of great men
West of the ramparts --
People say --
Are the fabled Red Cliffs of young Chou of the Three Kingdoms
Rebellious rocks pierce the sky
Frightening waves rip the bank
The backwash churns vast snowy swells --
River and mountains like a painting
how many heroes passed them, once ...
Think back to those years, Chou Yu --
Just married to the younger Chiao --
With plumed fan, silk kerchief
Laughed and talked
While masts and oars vanished to flying ash and smoke!
I roam through ancient realms
Turn gray too soon --
A man's life passes like a dream --
Pour out a cup then, to the river, and the moon
Hundreds of cold sparrows dive into the empty courtyard,
cluster on plum branches and speak of sun after rain at dusk.
They choose to gather en masse and kill me with noise.
Suddenly startled, they disperse. Then, soundlessness.
The cows and sheep are moving slowly down,
Each villager has shut his wicker gate.
The wind and moon disturb the clear night,
This landscape of rivers and hills is not my homeland.
A spring flows from the stones of a darkening cliff,
The autumn dew drips on the grass's roots.
My white head is within the brightness of the lamp,
What need for the flower to flourish so?
Far away on the cold mountain, a stone path slants upwards,
In the white clouds is a village, where people have their homes.
I stop the carriage, loving the maple wood in the evening,
The frosted leaves are redder than the second month's flowers.