Liu Zongyuan DWELLING BY A STREAM I had so long been troubled by official hat and robe That I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland. I am a neighbour now of planters and reapers. I am a guest of the mountains and woods. I plough in the morning, turning dewy grasses, And at evening tie my fisher-boat, breaking the quiet stream. Back and forth I go, scarcely meeting anyone, And sing a long poem and gaze at the blue sky. Wang Changling AT A BORDER-FORTRESS Cicadas complain of thin mulberry-trees In the Eighth-month chill at the frontier pass. Through theRead More →