Among thousand hills, no birds are hovering;
And myriad paths without prints of human foot.
With palm cloak and bamboo hat, on a lone boat,
In cold snow on river an old man fishing.
Rains on the river fall lightly and grass grows smooth;
Six dynasties gone like a dream, birds vainly sing.
Weeping willows of Tai Town are the most heartless,
Still in misty smoke for ten miles the dyke covering.
I alone love the soft grass that by the creek grows;
And there are orioles in the depth of trees warbling.
Rapid spring flood plus rains in the evening flows;
No one on the ferryboat, so it floats sideling.
The dense shades spread from green trees as summer's day is so long;
The reflections of pavilions in pond are upside down.
The crystal curtains move and so I know the breeze rises;
The scent pervades the yard from the trellis full of roses.
The sunset rays slant into village street,
Who can I speak to when grief I do meet?
No one travels on ancient thoroughfare;
Only the autumn wind stirring wheat ear.
Thin smoke spewed out from candles silver;
Golden cups on a luxury feast.
Parting soon, I think of zither,
Since the trip'll round hill and river.
The bright moon hides in a high tree;
The Milky Way fades into dawn.
I'll go a long way to Luoyang,
Don't know which year again we'll see.
The man in past long gone, riding a yellow stork,
The Tower of the Yellow Stork is vainly left here.
Once gone and never back, so is the yellow stork;
White clouds are vainly floating for thousands of year.
Trees on river at Hanyang are clearly in sight;
And grass on Parrot Shoal is luxuriant and green.
Where's the hometown when evening sun sheds last light?
The river and waves in mists putting me in spleen.
Write on the Door of the House in South Village Outside the Capital
by Cui Hu
On this day of last year in this doorway,
The face and peach blossoms both mirrored pink.
But no one knows where the face gone away,
Only peach blossoms still smile in spring wind.
The moon sets, the crow caws and frost all o'er the sky;
With riverside maples, fishermen's lamps, I sleep in woe.
From the Cold Mountain Temple outside City Gusu,
Comes the midnight bell when my boat casts anchor nigh.
Lands and swamps, hills and rivers, all on the battle map;
How can people their firewood gathering all enjoy?
Don't you talk to me how to seek for marquisate!
Success of a general costs myriad bones dry.
The grass is green and the willow's yellow;
Peach blossoms messy and pear blooms scented.
The east wind doesn't blow away my sorrow;
The spring sun does bring prolonged hatred.
I ask the pupil under a pine tree;
He says the master went picking the herbs;
Somewhere among the mountains he must be,
Don't know exactly where in deep clouds is he.
See Spring Off on the Thirtieth Day of the Third Moon
by Jia Dao
It is the thirtieth day of the third moon,
The splendid time deserts me who chant hard.
And you and I should not sleep tonight,
For still it's spring till morning bell is heard.
Alone up the tower at the river, quiet muse I;
Moonlight looks like the water and water the sky.
Together under the moon we played, but where's she now?
Only the scene's the same as last year's that we saw.
The sunset fades into dim twilight through screened window,
As in the golden house her trace of tears seen by none.
In lone empty courtyard the spring is about through,
The pear blooms all over the ground, the door's not open.
The temple among the bamboos, lush and green;
The bell in evening sounds low and far.
His lotus hat carries slanting sun beam;
Alone he returns to green hills so far.
With the year gone, hairs on the head white grow;
When autumn comes the leaves all turn yellow.
Scratching my head, I face the leaves yellow:
"Together with you, I’m deep in sorrow."
A tour on the Five Lakes at the sunset;
Mists and waves everywhere put me in woe.
For millenniums of ups and downs of affairs,
Who will ask the currents that eastward go?
雷达卡
楼主
显身卡