The Gourd Has Still Its Bitter Leaves Poem by Helen Jane Waddell
The Gourd Has Still Its Bitter Leaves
The gourd has still its bitter leaves,
And deep the crossing at the ford.
I wait my lord.
The ford is brimming to its banks;
The pheasant cries upon her mate.
My lord is late.
The boatman still keeps beckoning,
And others reach their journey's end.
I wait my friend.
translated from the Chinese; written B.C. 718
Thursday, February 11, 2016
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5/2/2024 1:56:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
