A.D. 689-740

One of the few literary men of the day whose later life was devoted entirely to literature. He was the inseparable friend of the famous Buddhist poet and doctor, Wang Wei. He spent the first forty years of his life in acquiring knowledge, but having failed to obtain his doctor's degree, he returned to the quiet hills of his native province and dedicated his remaining years to composition. Most of his poems, other than certain political satire, which drew on him the Emperor's wrath, are full of subtle sadness and fragrant regret, reminding one of pot-pourri in some deep blue porcelain bowl.

The Lost One

The red gleam o'er the mountains Goes wavering from sight, And the quiet moon enhances The loveliness of night.

I open wide my casement To breathe the rain-cooled air. And mingle with the moonlight The dark waves of my hair.

The night wind tells me secrets Of lotus lilies blue; And hour by hour the willows Shake down the chiming dew.

I fain would take the zither, By some stray fancy led; But there are none to hear me, And who can charm the dead?

So all my day-dreams follow The bird that leaves the nest; And in the night I gather The lost one to my breast.

A Friend Expected

Over the chain of giant peaks The great red sun goes down, And in the stealthy floods of night The distant valleys drown.

Yon moon that cleaves the gloomy pines Has freshness in her train; Low wind, faint stream, and waterfall Haunt me with their refrain.

The tired woodman seeks his cot That twinkles up the hill; And sleep has touched the wanderers That sang the twilight still.

To-night -- ah! beauty of to-night I need my friend to praise, So take the lute to lure him on Through the fragrant, dew-lit ways.

Ch`ang Ch`ien

Circa A.D.

One of the great philosopher-poets of the Taoist school. His life was spent far from the court and away from the sounds of civil warfare, in the endeavour to set himself in harmony with the universe -- to become, in fact, like an Aeolian harp through which all the cords of nature might sweep at will. How far he attained the end desired may be seen in his work, which is penetrated by a sense of profound beauty, recalling the quiet twilight upon the mountain-side, which he so well describes.

A Night on the Mountain

I sat upon the mountain-side and watched A tiny barque that skimmed across the lake, Drifting, like human destiny upon A world of hidden peril; then she sailed From out my ken, and mingled with the blue Of skies unfathomed, while the great round sun Weakened towards the waves. The whole expanse Suddenly in the half-light of the dusk Glimmered and waned. The last rays of the sun Lit but the tops of trees and mountain-peaks With tarnished glory; and the water's sheen, Once blue and bright, grew lustreless, and soon A welter of red clouds alone betrayed The passing of the sun. The scattered isles Uprose, black-looming o'er the tranquil deeps, Where the reflected heavens wanly showed A lingering gleam. Already wood and hill Sank in obscurity. The river marge Seemed but a broken line to failing sight.

. . . . .

Night is at hand; the night winds fret afar, The North winds moan. The waterfowl are gone To cover o'er the sand-dunes; dawn alone Shall call them from the sedges. Some bright star

Mirrors her charms upon the silver shoal; And I have ta'en the lute, my only friend: The vibrant chords beneath my fingers blend; They sob awhile, then as they slip control

Immortal memories awake, and the dead years Through deathless voices answer to my strings, Till from the brink of Time's untarnished springs The melting night recalls me with her tears.

Ts`en-Ts`an

Circa A.D.

Of his life we know little, save that he was the intimate friend of the great poet Tu Fu, and came of a noble family. He was, moreover, Censor under the Emperor Su Tsung (A.D. 756-762), and rose to be Governor of Chia-chou. What remains of his verse mostly takes the form of quatrains, yet for originality of thought, wealth of imagery and style, they have seldom been excelled. He was a master of metre, and contributed certain modifications to the laws of Chinese prosody which exist to the present day.

A Dream of Spring

Last night within my chamber's gloom some vague light breath of Spring Came wandering and whispering, and bade my soul take wing.

A hundred moonlit miles away the Chiang crept to sea; O keeper of my heart, I came by Chiang's ford to thee.

It lingered but a moment's space, that dream of Spring, and died; Yet as my head the pillows pressed, my soul had found thy side.

Oh! Chiang Nan's a hundred miles, yet in a moment's space I've flown away to Chiang Nan and touched a dreaming face.

Tu Fu