[A.D. 815]

    Since I lived a stranger in the City of Hsuun-yang
    Hour by hour bitter rain has poured. 
    On few days has the dark sky cleared;
    In listless sleep I have spent much time. 
    The lake has widened till it almost joins the sky;
    The clouds sink till they touch the water’s face. 
    Beyond my hedge I hear the boatmen’s talk;
    At the street-end I hear the fisher’s song. 
    Misty birds are lost in yellow air;
    Windy sails kick the white waves. 
    In front of my gate the horse and carriage-way
    In a single night has turned into a river-bed.

[31] THE BEGINNING OF SUMMER

[A.D. 815]

At the rise of summer a hundred beasts and trees
Join in gladness that the Season bids them thrive. 
Stags and does frolic in the deep woods;
Snakes and insects are pleased by the rank grass. 
Winged birds love the thick leaves;
Scaly fish enjoy the fresh weeds. 
But to one place Summer forgot to come;
I alone am left like a withered straw ... 
Banished to the world’s end;
Flesh and bone all in distant ways. 
From my native-place no tidings come;
Rebel troops flood the land with war. 
Sullen grief, in the end, what will it bring? 
I am only wearing my own heart away. 
Better far to let both body and mind
Blindly yield to the fate that Heaven made. 
Hsuun-yang abounds in good wine;
I will fill my cup and never let it be dry. 
On Pen1 River fish are cheap as mud;
Early and late I will eat them, boiled and fried. 
With morning rice at the temple under the hill,
And evening wine at the island in the lake ... 
Why should my thoughts turn to my native land? 
For in this place one could well end one’s age.

[32] VISITING THE HSI-LIN TEMPLE

[Written during his exile]

I dismount from my horse at the Hsi-lin Temple;
I throw the porter my slender riding-whip. 
In the morning I work at a Government office-desk;
In the evening I become a dweller in the Sacred Hills. 
In the second month to the north of Kuang-lu
The ice breaks and the snow begins to melt. 
On the southern plantation the tea-plant thrusts its sprouts;
Through the northern sluice the veins of the spring ooze.

* * * * *

This year there is war in An-hui,
In every place soldiers are rushing to arms. 
Men of learning have been summoned to the Council Board;
Men of action are marching to the battle-line. 
Only I, who have no talents at all,
Am left in the mountains to play with the pebbles of the stream.

[33] PROSE LETTER TO YUUAN CHEN1

[A.D. 818]