41. The Lodge at Mt. Hibiscus On A Snowy Night
Dusk falls, green hills look blurred and far;
Clime cold, the thatched huts poor and low.
Dogs’ barks heard at the wood fence gate;
The host is back, through wind and snow.
42. The Song of a Fisherman
Before West Hills, white egrets dart;
In “peach bloom water”, fish is fat.
Wind slanting and rain thin, I stay,
In blue bamboo cloak and green hat.
43. Early Spring
A drizzle coats the capital like cream;
Where grass can be seen from afar, but not close.
This spring scene, of the year, is the best time
Better than the town in willow-lavish prime.
44. Autumn Verse
Since old times, autumn provokes lonely sighs,
‘Tis more radiant than spring in my eyes.
To the clear air through the clouds a crane flies,
That takes with it th’ inspired poetic rhymes.
45. My Shabby Hut
It’s immortals, not heights, that make hills famous,
And it’s dragons, not depth, that give pools their souls.
Although shabby, my virtue sweetens my house,
Where green moss creeps on stairs, green grass soothes indoor moods.
Here, I chat with scholars and mingle with elites.
And pluck my humble zither and peruse classics,
Here, no flute or fiddle or official memos to sap my spirit,
But just like Ziyun's West Sichuan dome or Zhuge's Nanyang hut.
“Where is the shabbiness?” says Confucius.
46. Farewell on the Ancient-Old Grassland
Verdant and lush grass on the plain,
Shrivels and thrives each year again.
Wild fire cannot kill it at all,
Spring breezes will bring it back tall.
To th’ ages-old path, it trails down,
Then crawls to a deserted town.
On this friend-re-seeing-off day,
With parting sentiment it sways.
47. Fabulous South
The rising sun dyes the water blazingly red,
The spring radiance paints the water azure blue.
How can I not miss the south?
48. Chanting on the River at Dusk
A waning sunlight beam on the water,
Half the river blue and half rufescent.
What delights on this ninth month and third night
Is dew like real pearls, the moon a bow bent.
49.Fishing in Snow
Hills upon hills see no fowl;
Path after path see no soul.
Bamboo-cloaked and in a boat,
An old man fishes in snow.
50. The Horse
This horse is not just a horse,
A star from the sky and yon.
If you knock at its thin bone,
It clangs like a copper gong.