In The Days of Ancient China

1


Tsung Ping loved landscapes more than any man.

In the west, he ascended Mounts Ching and Wu,

In the south he stood on Heng’s summit.

On Mount Heng he constructed a hut

And lived in tranquiliity, until he fell ill

And was forced to return home to Chiang-ling.

“My wandering days are over, “he lamented,

“It befalls me to meditate on the Tao,

Only to roam in dreams...”

All that he had seen his travels

He painted on the walls of his house.


2

Po Chu-i, in official disfavour,

Ended up in a rat-hole on the Yangtze,

Blue-shadowed by the peaks of Lu-Shan.

Tramping the hills, he chose a site

And contrived a thatched cottage retreat.

One night’s lodging there brought rest to the body,

Two nights were a guarantee of peace;

Three nights and nothing existed at all

But the bamboo’s dripping

Amid rocks, clouds and trees.

He sowed the pool with lotus

And stocked it with fish,

And a pine-shaded torrent sang in his ears.

Springwater pearls trickled over the ledges,

Turning to mist on the breeze.