Song of an Old General（Wang Wei）
A Song of Peach-blossom River（Wang Wei）
ENDLESS YEARNING I（Li Bai）
Endless Yearning II（Li Bai）
Hard Is the Way of the World II（Li Bai）
Hard Is the Way of the World III（Li Bai）
A Song of Fair Women（Du Fu）
A Song of Sobbing By the River（Du Fu）
A Song of a Prince Deposed（Du Fu）
I Pass Through the Lu Dukedom with a Sigh and a Sacrifice for Confucius（Li LongJi）
Looking at the Moon and Thinking of One Far Away（Zhang Jiuling）
Farewell to Vice-prefect Du Setting out for his Official Post in Shu（Wang Bo）
Lines（Shen Quanqi）
Inscribed on the Wall of an Inn North of Dayu Mountain（Song Zhiwen）
A Mooring Under North Fort Hill（Wang Wan）
A Buddhist Retreat Behind Broken-mountain Temple（Chang Jian）
A Message to Censor Du Fu at his Office in the Left Court（Cen Shen）
A Message to Meng Haoran（Li Bai）
Bidding a Friend Farewell at Jingmen Ferry（Li Bai）
A Farewell to a Friend（Li Bai）
On Hearing Jun the Buddhist Monk from Shu Play his Lute（Li Bai）
Thoughts of Old Time from a Night-mooring Under Mount Niu-zhu（Li Bai）
A Night-vigil in the Left Court of the Palace（Du Fu）
Taking Leave of Friends on my Way to Huazhou（Du Fu）
| Multiple poems at a time |
老将行Song of an Old General
老将行
Wang Wei
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men –
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain –
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
Translator: Witter Bynner
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