Short Poems

The white snows of Winter
Follow the falling of leaves;
Therefore
I have had your portrait cut
In snow-white jade.

On the lake, the autumn wind blows blue ripples:
as I watch them, they become thoughts of you.
But what is the connection between ripples on a lake and you?
I myself don't understand this mystery.

By spring banks waterplants are green
and the river water transparent.
Gazing at the mountains and chanting poems out loud,
this fisherman's mind is not on fish.

Within my heart I see
an unexpected color.

As dusk gathers,
there are few companions left
beneath the blossoms.

When on thy mouth my kiss I pressed,
Upon my lips my soul did rest;
It came, poor soul, for all to see,
Hoping to pass from me to thee.

With Alfred and St. Louis he doth win
Grander than crowned head's mortuary dome:
His gentle heroic manhood enters in
The ever-flowering common heart for home.

First childbirth—
her husband feels like
he did half the work

Tz'u-en's spring colors end this morning;
all day I hover around, leaning by the temple gate.
Sadly, spring leaves us—no way to stop it.
Under purple wisteria, twilight bit by bit draws on.

Days I've got
my umbrella with me,
I'm absolutely fearless!

Sprays of wisteria
arranged in a vase—
the blossoms hang down,
and by my sickbed
spring is coming to an end.