This English version was translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The Chinese text is authoritative.
In our treasury of poetry there are poems that, once seen, are never forgotten: the first glance dazzles, the second is pure delight. Here are 10 of the most beautiful classical Chinese poems still extant. Let us savor together the breadth and depth of Chinese culture!
To the tune “The Beautiful Lady Yu”: Listening to the Rain (Jiang Jie)
As a youth I listened to the rain in a singing house; red candles dimmed the silken curtains. In my prime I listened to the rain in a traveler’s boat; the river wide, the clouds low, a lost wild goose crying in the west wind.
Now I listen to the rain beneath a monk’s roof, my temples already flecked with grey. Joy and sorrow, parting and meeting, are all without feeling; let the rain drip on the steps until dawn.
To the tune “Divination” (Li Zhiyi)
I live at the head of the Yangtze, you live at its tail. Day after day I long for you and never see you, yet we drink from the same river.
When will this water cease to flow? When will this sorrow end? I only wish your heart were like mine; then I would not fail your longing.
To the tune “A Spray of Plum Blossoms” (Li Qingzhao)
The red lotus fragrance fades; the jade mat is cool with autumn. Lightly loosening my silk skirt, alone I board the orchid boat.
Who sends a brocade letter from among the clouds? When the wild geese return in their formation, moonlight fills the western tower.
Flowers drift and fall of themselves, water flows of itself. One kind of longing, idle sorrow in two places.
There is no way to dispel this feeling: just as it leaves my brows, it rises to my heart.
To the tune “Green Jade Table”: The Lantern Festival (Xin Qiji)
The east wind at night sets a thousand trees in blossom, and blows down more, stars falling like rain.
Fine horses and carved carriages fill the road with fragrance. Phoenix flutes sound, jade lamps turn their light, all night the fish and dragon lanterns dance.
Moth ornaments, snowy willow sprays, threads of gold; laughing voices pass, trailing a hidden fragrance.
A thousand times I searched for her in the crowd. Suddenly turning my head, there she was, where the lantern light was dim.
To the tune “Immortals at the Magpie Bridge” (Qin Guan)
Fine clouds weave their artful patterns, shooting stars carry sorrow, across the distant Silver River they secretly pass. One meeting of golden wind and jade dew surpasses countless meetings in the human world.
Tender feelings like water, the happy hour like a dream; how can one bear to look back at the road home over the magpie bridge? If two hearts are true for ever, what need is there to be together morning and evening?
To the tune “Endless Longing” (Li Yu)
One range of hills, two ranges of hills. Hills far, sky high, misty water cold; longing reddens the maple leaves.
Chrysanthemums bloom, chrysanthemums fade. The frontier geese fly high, but he has not returned; a curtain of wind and moonlight lies idle.
To the tune “Plucking Cassia”: Spring Feelings (Xu Zaisi)
All my life I never knew longing; now that I know longing, I suffer from longing.
My body like a floating cloud, my heart like drifting catkins, my breath like a gossamer thread.
Only a wisp of lingering fragrance remains here; I wait for my precious wanderer, but where has he gone?
When do the symptoms come? When the lamp is half dim, when the moon is half bright.
To the tune “Spring in the Painted Hall” (Nalan Xingde)
One life, one lifetime, one pair of people; why must they pine in two places?
Longing for each other, gazing at each other, yet not together; for whom does heaven bring spring?
Nectar at the Blue Bridge is easy to beg; with the elixir made, it is hard to flee to the blue sea.
If I may visit you at the ford where the ox drinks, facing each other we would forget our poverty.
To the tune “Green Jade Table” (He Zhu)
Her light steps do not pass the Hengtang road; I can only watch her fragrant dust go. With whom will she spend her brocade-zither years? Moonlit bridge, flowered courtyard, latticed window, vermilion door: only spring knows where she is.
Flying clouds drift slowly over the dusky fragrant shore; my colored brush newly writes heartbreaking lines. May I ask how much idle sorrow there is? A river of misty grass, a city full of wind-blown catkins, plum rains when the plums turn yellow
To the tune “The Water Clock” (Wen Tingyun)
Incense in the jade burner, tears of red candles, shining aslant on autumn thoughts in the painted hall. Kingfisher brows grown faint, cloud-like hair disheveled; the night is long, quilt and pillow cold.
Wutong tree, rain at the third watch, unaware how bitter parting is. Leaf by leaf, drop by drop, on the empty steps it drips till dawn.
