mirror’s polished face;
    One cannot read small-letter books. 
    Deeper and deeper, one’s love of old friends;
    Fewer and fewer, one’s dealings with young men. 
    One thing only, the pleasure of idle talk,
    Is great as ever, when you and I meet.

[56] TO A TALKATIVE GUEST

[A.D. 836]

    The town visitor’s easy talk flows in an endless stream;
    The country host’s quiet thoughts ramble timidly on. 
    “I beg you, Sir, do not tell me about things at Ch`ang-an;
    For you entered just when my harp was tuned and lying balanced on
        my knees.”

[57] TO LIU YU-HSI

[A.D. 838]

    In length of days and soundness of limb you and I are one;
    Our eyes are not wholly blind, nor our ears quite deaf. 
    Deep drinking we lie together, fellows of a spring day;
    Or gay-hearted boldly break into gatherings of young men. 
    When, seeking flowers, we borrowed his horse, the river-keeper was
        vexed;
    When, to play on the water, we stole his boat, the Duke Ling was sore. 
    I hear it said that in Lo-yang, people are all shocked,
    And call us by the name of “Liu and Po, those two mad old men.”

[58] MY SERVANT WAKES ME

[A.D. 839]

    My servant wakes me:  “Master, it is broad day. 
    Rise from bed; I bring you bowl and comb. 
    Winter comes and the morning air is chill;
    To-day your Honour must not venture abroad.” 
    When I stay at home, no one comes to call;
    What must I do with the long, idle hours? 
    Setting my chair where a faint sunshine falls
    I have warmed wine and opened my poetry-books.

[59] SINCE I LAY ILL

[A.D. 840]

    Since I lay ill, how long has passed? 
    Almost a hundred heavy-hanging days. 
    The maids have learnt to gather my medicine-herbs;
    The dog no longer barks when the doctor comes. 
    The jars in my cellar are plastered deep with mould;
    My singer’s carpets are half crumbled to dust. 
    How can I bear, when the Earth renews her light,
    To watch from a pillow the beauty of Spring unfold?

[60] SONG OF PAST FEELINGS [With Preface]

[Circa A.D. 840]

When Lo-t`ien[1] was old, he fell ill of a palsy.  So he made a list of his possessions and examined his expenses, that he might reject whatever had become superfluous.  He had in his employ a girl about twenty years old called Fan Su, whose postures delighted him when she sang or danced.  But above all she excelled in singing the “Willow-Branch,” so that many called her by the name of this song, and she was well known by this name in the town of Lo-yang.  But she was on the list of unnecessary expenses and was to be sent away.