THOUGHTS ON A STILL NIGHTBefore my bed, the moon is shining bright,I think that it is frost upon the ground.I raise my head and look at the bright moon,I lower my head and think of home.

AMUSING MYSELFFacing my wine, I did not see the dusk,Falling blossoms have filled the folds of my clothes.Drunk, I rise and approach the moon in the stream,Birds are far off, people too are few.

AUTUMN AIRThe autumn air is clear,The autumn moon is bright.Fallen leaves gather and scatter,The jackdaw perches and starts anew.We think of each other- when will we meet?This hour, this night, my feelings are hard.

QUIET NIGHT THOUGHTBefore my bed the moonlight glitters,Like frost upon the ground.I look up to the mountain moon,Look down and think of home.

SEEING OFF A FRIENDGreen hills above the northern wall,White water winding east of the city.On this spot our single act of parting,The lonely tumbleweed journeys ten thousand li.Drifting clouds echo the traveller's thoughts,The setting sun reflects my old friend's feelings.You wave your hand and set off from this place,Your horse whinnies as it leaves.

VISITING THE TAOIST PRIEST DAI TIANSHAN, BUT NOT FINDING HIMA dog's bark amid the water's sound,Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain.Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer,And at the stream I hear no noonday bell.Wild bamboo divides the green mist,A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak.No-one knows the place to which he's gone,Sadly, I lean on two or three pines.

SENT TO DU FU BELOW SHAQUI CITYWhat is it that I've come to now?High before me: Shaqiu city.Beside the city, ancient trees;The sunset joins the autumn sounds.The Lu wine cannot make me drunk,Qi's songs cannot restore my feelings.My thoughts of you are like the Wen's waters,Mightily sent on their southern journey.

SEEING OFF MENF HAORAN FOR GUANLING AT YELLOW CRANE TOWERMy old friend's said goodbye to the west, here at Yellow Crane Tower,In the third month's cloud of willow blossoms, he's going down to Yangzhou.The lonely sail is a distant shadow, on the edge of a blue emptiness,All I see is the Yangtze River flow to the far horizon.

CROWS CALLING AT NIGHTYellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near.Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.