Poetics

While two ladies of the Imperial harem held before
    him a screen of pink silk, and a P’in Concubine
    knelt with his ink-slab, Li Po, who was very
    drunk, wrote an impassioned poem to the moon.

A Lament of Scarlet Cloud

O golden night, lit by the flame of seven stars, the
    years have drunk you too.

The Son of Heaven

Like this frail and melancholy rain is the memory of
    the Emperor Kuang-Hsue, and of his sufferings at
    the hand of Yehonala. 
Yet under heaven was there found no one to avenge
    him. 
Now he has mounted the Dragon and has visited the
    Nine Springs.  His betrayer sits upon the Dragon
    Throne.

Yet among the shades may he not take comfort from
    the presence of his Pearl Concubine?

The Dream

When he had tasted in a dream of the Ten Courts of
    Purgatory, Doctor Tseng was humbled in spirit,
    and passed his life in piety among the foot-hills.

Feng-Shui

At the Hour of the Horse avoid raising a roof-tree,
    for by the trampling of his hoofs it may
    be beaten down;
And at the Hour of the cunning Rat go not near a
    soothsayer, for by his cunning he may mislead
    the oracle, and the hopes of the enquirer come
    to naught.

China of the Tourists

Reflections in a Ricksha

This ricksha is more comfortable than some. 
The springs are not broken, and the seat is covered
    with a white cloth. 
Also the runner is young and sturdy, and his legs flash
    pleasantly. 
I am not ill at ease.

The runner interests me. 
Between the shafts he trots easily and familiarly, lifting
    his knees prettily and holding his shoulders
    steady. 
His hips are lean and narrow as a filly’s; his calves
    might have posed for Praxiteles. 
He is a modern, I perceive, for he wears no queue. 
Above a rounded neck rises a shock of hair the shade
    of dusty coal.  Each hair is stiff and erect as a
    brush bristle.  There are lice in them no doubt—­
    but then perhaps we of the West are too squeamish
    in details of this minor sort. 
What interests me chiefly is the back of his ears.  Not
    that they are extraordinary as ears; it is their
    very normality that touches me.  I find them
    smaller than those of a horse, but undoubtedly
    near of kin.

There is no denying the truth of evolution;
Yet as a beast of burden man is distinctly inferior.