When the sun rose I was still lying in bed;
    An early oriole sang on the roof of my house. 
    For a moment I thought of the Royal Park at dawn
    When the Birds of Spring greeted their Lord from his trees. 
    I remembered the days when I served before the Throne
    Pencil in hand, on duty at the Ch`eng1-ming;[1]
    At the height of spring, when I paused an instant from work,
    Morning and evening, was this the voice I heard? 
    Now in my exile the oriole sings again
    In the dreary stillness of Hsuun-yang town ... 
    The bird’s note cannot really have changed;
    All the difference lies in the listener’s heart. 
    If he could but forget that he lives at the World’s end,
    The bird would sing as it sang in the Palace of old.

[1] Name of a palace at Ch`ang-an.

[35] DREAMING THAT I WENT WITH LU AND YU TO VISIT YUUAN CHEN1

[Written in exile]

    At night I dreamt I was back in Ch`ang-an;
    I saw again the faces of old friends. 
    And in my dreams, under an April sky,
    They led me by the hand to wander in the spring winds. 
    Together we came to the village of Peace and Quiet;
    We stopped our horses at the gate of Yuuan Chen1. 
    Yuuan Chen1 was sitting all alone;
    When he saw me coming, a smile came to his face. 
    He pointed back at the flowers in the western court;
    Then opened wine in the northern summer-house. 
    He seemed to be saying that neither of us had changed;
    He seemed to be regretting that joy will not stay;
    That our souls had met only for a little while,
    To part again with hardly time for greeting. 
    I woke up and thought him still at my side;
    I put out my hand; there was nothing there at all.

[36] THE FIFTEENTH VOLUME

[Having completed the fifteenth volume of his works, the poet sends it to his friends Yuuan Chen1 and Li Chien, with a jesting poem.]

[Written in 818]

    My long poem, the “Eternal Grief,"[1] is a beautiful and moving work;
    My ten “Songs of Shensi” are models of tunefulness. 
    I cannot prevent Old Yuuan from stealing my best rhymes;
    But I earnestly beg Little Li to respect my ballads and songs. 
    While I am alive riches and honour will never fall to my lot;
    But well I know that after I am dead the fame of my books will live. 
    This random talk and foolish boasting forgive me, for to-day
    I have added Volume Fifteen to the row that stands to my name.

[1] See Giles, “Chinese Literature,” p. 169.

[37] INVITATION TO HSIAO CHUU-SHIH[1]

[Written when Governor of Chung-Chou]