Takamura, thinking these were the Emperor’s own verses, said:  ’If I may venture to criticize an august composition, I would suggest that the phrase “in the distance” be altered.’  The Emperor was delighted, for he had purposely changed ‘all I see’ to ‘in the distance I see.’  At that time there was only one copy of Po Chuu-i’s poems in Japan and the Emperor, to whom it belonged, had allowed no one to see it.”—­From the Koudanshou [twelfth century].

[40] AFTER COLLECTING THE AUTUMN TAXES

    From my high castle I look at the town below
    Where the natives of Pa cluster like a swarm of flies. 
    How can I govern these people and lead them aright? 
    I cannot even understand what they say. 
    But at least I am glad, now that the taxes are in,
    To learn that in my province there is no discontent. 
    I fear its prosperity is not due to me
    And was only caused by the year’s abundant crops,
    The papers that lie on my desk are simple and few;
    My house by the moat is leisurely and still. 
    In the autumn rain the berries fall from the eaves;
    At the evening bell the birds return to the wood. 
    A broken sunlight quavers over the southern porch
    Where I lie on my couch abandoned to idleness.

[41] LODGING WITH THE OLD MAN OF THE STREAM

[A.D. 820]

    Men’s hearts love gold and jade;
    Men’s mouths covet wine and flesh. 
    Not so the old man of the stream;
    He drinks from his gourd and asks nothing more. 
    South of the stream he cuts firewood and grass;
    North of the stream he has built wall and roof. 
    Yearly he sows a single acre of land;
    In spring he drives two yellow calves. 
    In these things he finds great repose;
    Beyond these he has no wish or care. 
    By chance I met him walking by the water-side;
    He took me home and lodged me in his thatched hut. 
    When I parted from him, to seek market and Court,
    This old man asked my rank and pay. 
    Doubting my tale, he laughed loud and long: 
    “Privy Councillors do not sleep in barns.”

[42] TO HIS BROTHER HSING-CHIEN

[A.D. 820]

Can the single cup of wine
We drank this morning have made my heart so glad? 
This is a joy that comes only from within,
Which those who witness will never understand. 
I have but two brothers
And bitterly grieved that both were far away;
This Spring, back through the Gorges of Pa,
I have come to them safely, ten thousand leagues. 
Two sisters I had
Who had put up their hair, but not twined the sash;[1]
Yesterday both were married and taken away
By good husbands in whom I may well trust. 
I am freed at last from the thoughts that made me grieve,
As though a sword had cut a rope from my neck. 
And limbs grow light when the heart sheds its care: 
Suddenly I seem to be flying up to the sky!