Li Pin (818-876)
Beyond the mountains, letters have not come
For winters, springs, and winters once again;
Approaching home, I feel once more afraid—
Too scared to ask of what’s become of them.
Jia Dao (779 – 843)
Beneath the pine I asked a little boy,
Who said, “the master’s gone somewhere alone
To pick the herbs among the mountain midst—
Within the clouds, along a path unknown.”
Li Duan (743 – 782?)
She plucks the zither, wood engrained in gold,
With silky hands beside a room of jade;
To make the gentleman there notice her
He sees at times her brushing hand has strayed.