The white sun gradually lengthening its course, The blue-grey clouds hanging as though they would fall; The last icicle breaking into splinters of jade; The new stems marshalling red sprouts.

The things I meet are all full of gladness; It is not only _I_ who love the Spring.

To welcome the flowers I stand in the back garden; To enjoy the sunlight I sit under the front eaves.

Yet still in my heart there lingers one regret; Soon I shall part with the flame of my red stove!

[46] GOOD-BYE TO THE PEOPLE OF HANGCHOW

[_A.D. 824_]

Elders and officers line the returning road; Wine and soup load the parting table.

I have not ruled you with the wisdom of Shao Kung;[1]

What is the reason your tears should fall so fast?

My taxes were heavy, though many of the people were poor; The farmers were hungry, for often their fields were dry.

All I did was to dam the water of the Lake[2]

And help a little in a year when things were bad.

[1] A legendary ruler who dispensed justice sitting under a wild pear-tree.

[2] Po Chu-i built the dam on the Western Lake which is still known as "Po's dam."

[47] WRITTEN WHEN GOVERNOR OF SOOCHOW

[_A.D. 825_]

A Government building, not my own home.

A Government garden, not my own trees.

But at Lo-yang I have a small house And on Wei River I have built a thatched hut.

I am free from the ties of marrying and giving in marriage; If I choose to retire, I have somewhere to end my days.

And though I have lingered long beyond my time, To retire now would be better than not at all!

[48] GETTING UP EARLY ON A SPRING MORNING

[_Part of a poem written when Governor of Soochow in 825_]

The early light of the rising sun shines on the beams of my house; The first banging of opened doors echoes like the roll of a drum.

The dog lies curled on the stone step, for the earth is wet with dew; The birds come near to the window and chatter, telling that the day is fine.

With the lingering fumes of yesterday's wine my head is still heavy; With new doffing of winter clothes my body has grown light.

[49] LOSING A SLAVE-GIRL

[_Date uncertain_]

Around my garden the little wall is low; In the bailiff's lodge the lists are seldom checked.

I am ashamed to think we were not always kind; I regret your labours, that will never be repaid.

The caged bird owes no allegiance; The wind-tossed flower does not cling to the tree.

Where to-night she lies none can give us news; Nor any knows, save the bright watching moon.

[50] THE GRAND HOUSES AT LO-YANG

[_Circa A.D. 829_]

By woods and water, whose houses are these With high gates and wide-stretching lands?

From their blue gables gilded fishes hang; By their red pillars carven coursers run.

Their spring arbours, warm with caged mist; Their autumn yards with locked moonlight cold.

To the stem of the pine-tree amber beads cling; The bamboo-branches ooze ruby-drops.

Of lake and terrace who may the masters be?

Staff-officers, Councillors-of-State.

All their lives they have never come to see, But know their houses only from the bailiff's map!

[51] THE CRANES

[_A.D. 830_]

The western wind has blown but a few days; Yet the first leaf already flies from the bough.

On the drying paths I walk in my thin shoes; In the first cold I have donned my quilted coat.

Through shallow ditches the floods are clearing away; Through spa.r.s.e bamboos trickles a slanting light.

In the early dusk, down an alley of green moss, The garden-boy is leading the cranes home.

[52] ON HIS BALDNESS