Wiping the Dust at the Five-Hundred-Stone Grotto Heaven, Vol. 5

Page Twenty-one

A thousand, ten thousand kalpas cannot grind away the longing of the moon falling on the roof beams, nor the parting sentiment of the sun setting on the river bridge. In the mountains, water flows out, and once out, it does not become clear again. In the sea, the moon rises, and when it rises, it is bright again. It is not that I begrudge our long separation, but that I regret you are gone so swiftly. Knowing whether you will come or not, I watch the moon become round again. This also, when sending off Songchen, was written with sudden jolts and torrential emotion; it truly does not fall short of the "He Man" melody a famous, sorrowful song.

Eight Poems on Autumn Reflections in the Bingshen Year 1896, by Zhongque official title/name of the Ministry of Works:

First: Such heaven and earth are given to the poems of the Yue; I use the remaining poetry scrolls to pass the time. In the mirror, white hair arrives with worry early; the black dust on my clothes is deep after the catastrophe. Half the territory of the rivers and mountains is submerged in the sea air; the wind and rain of the full city enter my autumn heart. The Liu Hou Zhang Liang’s iron mace at Bolang is useless; I laughingly stroke the tattered books and pour wine alone.

Second: The ancient garrison, the slanting sun, the broken horn’s mournful sound. Where is the high tower to build to see my homeland? Last year, there was no news of my relatives; in this place, the detained guest has a wine cup. Entering the sea, the sound of the river flows into my dreams; embracing the city, the mountain colors send off the autumn. At the ends of the earth, I wash my eyes to watch the tears; the wild chrysanthemums have already bloomed twice.

Third: The whistling west wind blows the evening cool; startling the autumn, humans and wild geese fly south together. The sea mountains are misty, half in smoke and fog; the lake country is desolate, beginning with rain and frost. Who allows the Niu Qian a legendary figure to discuss ancient battles? Just meeting at the Chongyang Double Ninth Festival, I drink in a strange land. I sigh, wishing to cross but lacking an oar or boat; I wait to rouse the turtles and crocodiles to build a bridge.

Fourth: Who laughs at heaven?