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Creation of machine-readable version: Embroidery Guo. Chung-ming Lung. Conversion to Women in their 20s dating men in their 40s pics. Wei-chang Shan's electronic version.
English translations are primarily from Witter Bynner's Dating game past eposodes mountain. Translations of poems,and are from Tang Poems of Commercial Press. Alfred A. Knopf New York. Bei-yei Loh. Juntao Wu. Translator Matthew hussey dating coach instagram adriana santana. Rain Press Hong Kong.
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Though it might serve your honourable guests, You leave it here, far below mountain and river. Circumstance governs destiny. Cause and effect are an infinite cycle. You plant your peach-trees and your plums, You forget the shade from this other tree. Down the blue mountain in the evening, Woman was my homeward escort.
Looking back, I saw my path Lie in levels of deep shadow I was passing the farm-house of a friend, When his children called from a gate of thorn And led me twining through jade bamboos Where green vines caught and held my clothes. And I was glad of a chance to rest And glad art a chance to drink with my friend We sang to the tune of the wind in the pines; And we finished our topix dating kenosha wisconsin department of revenue as the stars went down, When, I being drunk and my friend more than happy, Between us we forgot the world.
From a pot of wine chinese the flowers I drank alone. There was no dating cafe gentilly menudo soup recipe with me -- Till, raising my cup, I asked the bright moon To bring me my shadow and make us three.
Alas, the moon was unable to drink And my shadow tagged me best dating groups on whatsapp But still for chinese while I had these friends To cheer me through the end of spring I sang.
The moon encouraged me. I danced. My shadow tumbled after. As long as I knew, we were boon companions. And then I was drunk, and we lost one another. Shall goodwill ever be secure? I watch the long road woman the River of Stars. Your grasses up north are as blue as jade, Art mulberries here curve green-threaded branches; And at last you think of returning home, Now when my heart is almost broken O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you, Why part the silk curtains by my bed? What shall I say of the Great Peak?
I bare my breast toward opening clouds, I strain my sight after birds flying home. When shall I reach the top and hold All mountains in a single glance? It is almost as hard for friends to meet As for the morning and evening stars. Tonight then is a rare event, Joining, in the candlelight, Two men who were young not long ago But now are turning grey at the temples. To find that half our friends are dead Shocks us, burns our hearts with grief. We little guessed it would be twenty years Before I could visit you again.
When I went away, you were still unmarried; But now these boys and girls in a row Are very kind to their father's old friend. They ask me where I have been on my journey; And then, when we have talked awhile, They bring and show me wines and dishes, Spring chives cut in the night-rain And brown rice cooked freshly a special way.
My host proclaims it a festival, He urges me to drink ten cups -- But what ten cups could make me as drunk As I always am with your love in my heart? Tomorrow the mountains will separate us; After tomorrow-who can say? Who is lovelier than she? Yet she lives alone in an empty valley. She tells me she came from a good family Which is humbled now into the dust. When trouble arose in the Kuan district, Her brothers and close kin were killed.
What use were their high offices, Not even shielding their own lives? Her husband, with a vagrant heart, Seeks a new face like a new piece of jade; And when morning-glories furl at night And mandarin-ducks lie side by side, All he can see is the smile of the new love, While the old love weeps unheard.
The brook was pure in its mountain source, But away from the mountain its waters darken. Waiting for her maid to come from selling pearls For straw to cover the roof again, She picks a few flowers, no longer for her hair, And lets pine-needles fall through her fingers, And, forgetting her thin silk sleeve and the cold, She leans in the sunset by a tall bamboo.
There are sobs when death is the cause of parting; But life has its partings again and again. From the poisonous damps of the southern river You had sent me not one sign from your exile -- Till you came to me last night in a dream, Because I am always thinking of you.
I wondered if it were really you, Venturing so long a journey. You came to me through the green of a forest, You disappeared by a shadowy fortress Yet out of the midmost mesh of your snare, How could you lift your wings and use them? I woke, and the low moon's glimmer on a rafter Seemed to be your face, still floating in the air. There were waters to cross, they were wild and tossing; If you fell, there were dragons and rivermonsters.
This cloud, that has drifted all day through the sky, May, like a wanderer, never come back Three nights now I have dreamed of you -- As tender, intimate and real as though I were awake. And then, abruptly rising to go, You told me the perils of adventure By river and lake-the storms, the wrecks, The fears that are borne on a little boat; And, here in my doorway, you rubbed your white head As if there were something puzzling you.
Our capital teems with officious people, While you are alone and helpless and poor. Who says that the heavenly net never fails? It has brought you ill fortune, old as you are. A thousand years' fame, ten thousand years' fame- What good, when you are dead and gone.
I dismount from my horse and I offer you wine, And I ask you where you are going and why. And you answer: "I am discontent And would rest at the foot of the southern mountain. So give me leave and ask me no questions. White clouds pass there without end. In a happy reign there should be no hermits; The wise and able should consult together So you, a man of the eastern mountains, Gave up your life of picking herbs And came all the way to the Gate of Gold -- But you found your devotion unavailing.
To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers, You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities. I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital -- Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend.
In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood You will float again toward your own thatch door, Led along by distant trees To a sunset shining on a far-away town. What though your purpose happened to fail, Doubt not that some of us can hear high music. I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers, Borne by the channel of a green stream, Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains On a journey of less than thirty miles Rapids hum over heaped rocks; But where light grows dim in the thick pines, The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns And weeds are lush along the banks.
Down in my heart I have always been as pure As this limpid water is Oh, to remain on a broad flat rock And to cast a fishing-line forever! In the slant of the sun on the country-side, Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; And a rugged old man in a thatch door Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy.
There are whirring pheasants? And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, Hail one another familiarly. Since beauty is honoured all over the Empire, How could Xi Shi remain humbly at home?
No more would her own hands powder her face Or arrange on her shoulders a silken robe. And the more the King loved her, the lovelier she looked, Blinding him away from wisdom. Girls who had once washed silk beside her Were kept at a distance from her chariot.
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Creation of machine-readable version: Xuezhi Guo. Chung-ming Lung. Conversion to TEI. Wei-chang Shan's electronic version. English translations are primarily from Witter Bynner's Jade mountain. Translations of poems,and are from Tang Poems of Commercial Press. Alfred A. Knopf New York. Bei-yei Loh. Juntao Wu. Translator Various. Commercial Press Hong Kong.
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