just rulers of antiquity.

WANG WEI

[_A.D. 699-759_]

[2] PROSE LETTER

_To the Bachelor-of-Arts P`ei Ti_

Of late during the sacrificial month, the weather has been calm and
clear, and I might easily have crossed the mountain. But I knew that you
were conning the classics and did not dare disturb you. So I roamed
about the mountain-side, rested at the Kan-p`ei Temple, dined with the
mountain priests, and, after dinner, came home again. Going northwards,
I crossed the Yuuan-pa, over whose waters the unclouded moon shone with
dazzling rim. When night was far advanced, I mounted Hua-tzuu's Hill and
saw the moonlight tossed up and thrown down by the jostling waves of
Wang River. On the wintry mountain distant lights twinkled and vanished;
in some deep lane beyond the forest a dog barked at the cold, with a cry
as fierce as a wolf's. The sound of villagers grinding their corn at
night filled the gaps between the slow chiming of a distant bell.

Now I am sitting alone. I listen, but cannot hear my grooms and servants
move or speak. I think much of old days: how hand in hand, composing
poems as we went, we walked down twisting paths to the banks of clear
streams.

We must wait for Spring to come: till the grasses sprout and the trees
bloom. Then wandering together in the spring hills we shall see the
trout leap lightly from the stream, the white gulls stretch their wings,
the dew fall on the green moss. And in the morning we shall hear the cry
of curlews in the barley-fields.

It is not long to wait. Shall you be with me then? Did I not know the
natural subtlety of your intelligence, I would not dare address to you
so remote an invitation. You will understand that a deep feeling
dictates this course.

Written without disrespect by Wang Wei, a dweller in the mountains.

LI PO

[_A.D. 701-762_]

[3-5] DRINKING ALONE BY MOONLIGHT

[_Three Poems_]

I

A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;
I drink alone, for no friend is near.
Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,
For he, with my shadow, will make three men.
The moon, alas, is no drinker of wine;
Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.
Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave
I must make merry before the Spring is spent.
To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;
In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks.
While we were sober, three shared the fun;