This spring morning in bed I’m lying,
Not to awake till birds are crying.
After one night of wind and showers,
How many are the fallen flowers?
Happy Rain on a Spring Night
Good rain knows its time right;
It will fall when comes spring.
With wind it steals in night;
Mute, it wets everything.
Over wild lanes dark cloud spreads;
In boat a lantern looms.
Dawn sees saturated reds;
The town’s heavy with blooms.
On vernal day no flowers were in bloom, alas!
In second moon I’m glad to see the budding grass.
But White snow dislikes the late coming vernal breeze,
In plays the parting flowers flying through the trees.
Spring on the Southern Rivershore
Orioles sing for miles amid red blooms and green trees;
By hills and rills wine shop streamers wave in the breeze.
Four hundred eighty splendid temples still remain;
Of Southern Dynasties in the mist and rain.
The red beans grow in southern land.
How many load in spring the trees?
Gather them till full is your hand;
They would revive fond memories.
The slender beauty's dressed in emerald all about;
A thousand branches droop like fringes made of jade.
But do you know by whom these slim leaves are cut out?
The wind of early spring is sharp as scissor blade.
Song of Good Event
The spring rain hastens roadside flowers to grow;
They undulate and fill mountains with spring.
Deep, deep along the stream I go,
And hear hundreds of orioles sing.
Flying cloud in face turns to dragon or snake.
And swiftly melts in azure sky.
Lying drunk ‘neath old vines, I can’t make
Out if it’s north or south by and by.
Song of Southern Country
Wine cup in hand, I see spring off in vain
How many times can I, grown old, see spring again?
The town in bloom, I’m grieved to be far, far away.
Can I be gay?
The pipes and strings do hasten spring not to delay.
I croon and gaze from Homesick Terrace high;
Coming for miles and miles, alone I mount and sigh,
Things can be best enjoyed in a leisurely way;
For long I stay,
And inch by inch my heart burns into ashes grey.