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From “Chinese Written Wall Pictures”
Li Hai-ku—Nineteenth Century
Spring
THE WILLOWS near the roadside rest-house are soft with new-burst leaves. | |
| I saunter along the river path, | |
| Listening to the occasional beating of the ferry drum. | |
| Clouds blow and separate, | |
| And between them I see the watch towers | 5 |
| Of the distant city | |
| They come in official coats | |
| To examine my books. | |
| Months go by; | |
| Years slide backwards and disappear. | 10 |
| Musing, | |
| I shut my eyes | |
| And think of the road I have come, | |
| And of the spring weeds | |
| Choking the fields of my house. | 15 |
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Summer
The rain has stopped. | |
| The clouds drive in a new direction. | |
| The sand is so dry and hard that my wooden shoes ring upon it | |
| As I walk. | |
| The flowers in the wind are very beautiful. | 20 |
| A little stream quietly draws a line | |
| Through the sand. | |
| Every household is drunk with sacrificial wine, | |
| And every field is tall with millet | |
| And pale young wheat. | 25 |
| I have not much business. | |
| It is a good day. | |
| Ha! Ha! | |
| I will write a poem | |
| On all this sudden brightness. | 30 |
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Autumn
Hoar frost is falling, | |
| And the water of the river runs clear. | |
| The moon has not yet risen, | |
| But there are many stars. | |
| On the opposite bank | 35 |
| Autumn lamps are burning in the windows. | |
| I am sick, | |
| Sick with all the illnesses there are. | |
| I can bear this cold no longer, | |
| And a great pity for my whole past life | 40 |
| Fills my mind. | |
| The boat has started at last. | |
| Oh, be careful not to run foul | |
| Of the fishing-nets! | |
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Winter
I was lonely in the cold valleys | 45 |
| Where I was stationed. | |
| But I am still lonely, | |
| And when no one is near | |
| I sigh. | |
| My gluttonous wife rails at me | 50 |
| To guard her bamboo shoots. | |
| My son has neglected | |
| The vegetables. | |
| Oh yes, | |
| Old red rice can satisfy hunger, | 55 |
| And poor people can buy muddy, unstrained wine | |
| On credit. | |
| But the pile of land-tax bills | |
| Is growing; | |
| I will go over and see my neighbor, | 60 |
| Leaning on my staff. | |
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