Lonely east slope a sick old man
White hair dull loose all frost wind
Son mistaken happy red face at
A smile that know is alcohol red
A lonely sick old man on eastern slope,
My frosty hair blows loosely in the wind.
My son, mistaken, is pleased by my ruddy face,
I smile: I know it's alcoholic red.
Impromptu Verse (My Frosty Hair Blows Loosely in the Wind)
White head dull loose all frost wind
Small pavilion rattan bed dependent sick appear
Report doctor spring sleep beautiful
Taoist softly ring fifth watch bell
My frosty hair blows loosely in the wind,
In this small pavilion, I lie sick on a rattan bed.
The doctor's reported my beautiful sleep this spring,
The Taoist rings the fifth watch bell with care.
Sunset cloud gather far excess clear cold
Milky Way silent turn jade plate
This life this night not long good
Next year bright moon where see
The sunset clouds are gathered far away, it's clear and cold,
The Milky Way is silent, I turn to the jade plate.
The goodness of this life and of this night will not last for long,
Next year where will I watch the bright moon?
Visiting the Temple of Auspicious Fortune Alone on Winter Solstice
Well bottom deep warmth return not return
Sighing cold rain wet withered root
What person more like come to teacher
Not be flower time willing come alone
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.
Dreaming of My Deceased Wife on the Night of the 20th Day of the First Month
Ten years living and dead have drawn apart
I do nothing to remember
But I can not forget
Your lonely grave a thousand miles away...
Nowhere can I talk of my sorrow --
Even if we met, how would you know me
My face full of dust
My hair like snow?
In the dark of night, a dream: suddenly, I am home
You by the window
Doing your hair
I look at you and can not speak
Your face is streaked by endless tears
Year after year must they break my heart
These moonlit nights?
That low pine grave?