Poems of Li Po
|81.||Through the YangZi Gorges||12/31/2002|
|82.||To His Two Children||12/31/2002|
|83.||To My Wife on Lu-shan Mountain||4/8/2010|
|85.||To Tu Fu from Shantung||12/31/2002|
|86.||To Wang Lun||12/31/2002|
|87.||Under the Moon||12/31/2002|
|88.||Visiting A Taoist On Tiatien Mountain||12/31/2002|
|89.||Waking from Drunken Sleep on a Spring Day.||4/8/2010|
|90.||Waterfall at Lu-shan||12/31/2002|
|91.||We Fought for - South of the Walls||4/8/2010|
The Old Dust
The living is a passing traveler;
The dead, a man come home.
One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth,
Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages.
The rabbit in the moon pounds the medicine in vain;
Fu-sang, the tree of immortality, has crumbled to kindling wood.
Man dies, his white bones are dumb without a word
When the green pines feel the coming of the spring.
Looking back, I sigh; looking before, I sigh again.