Po Chu I. In Yung Yang
*
"A Feast of Lanterns", by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1916],
p. 65
Po Ch-i
A.d. 772-846
One of the greatest statesmen that China has produced. Po Ch-i comes nearer to our idea of a poet of the Romantic School than most Chinese writers. Yet even when he tells the story of the Emperor Ming Huang and the Lady Yang Kwei-fei--the one supreme love romance of China--he deals with issues that endure beyond the curtain-fall on tragedy. For him the final crisis is never attained. A wrong done has results beyond the reach of time. For a fuller account of this poet cf. "A Lute of Jade," p. 73.
In Yung-yang
I was a child in Yung-yang,
A little child I waved farewell.
After long years again I dwell
In world-forgotten Yung-yang.
Yet I recall my play-time,
And in my dreams I see
The little ghosts of May-time
Waving farewell to me.
My father's house in Yung-yang
Has fallen upon evil days.
No kinsmen o'er the crooked ways
Hail me as once in Yung-yang.
p. 66
No longer stands the old Moot-hall,
Gone is the market from the town;
The very hills have tumbled down
And stoned the valleys in their fall.
Only the waters of the Ch'in and Wei
Roll green and changeless as in days gone by.
Yet I recall my play-time,
And in my dreams I see
The little ghosts of May-time
Waving farewell to me.
"A Feast of Lanterns", by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1916],
p. 65
Po Ch-i
A.d. 772-846
One of the greatest statesmen that China has produced. Po Ch-i comes nearer to our idea of a poet of the Romantic School than most Chinese writers. Yet even when he tells the story of the Emperor Ming Huang and the Lady Yang Kwei-fei--the one supreme love romance of China--he deals with issues that endure beyond the curtain-fall on tragedy. For him the final crisis is never attained. A wrong done has results beyond the reach of time. For a fuller account of this poet cf. "A Lute of Jade," p. 73.
In Yung-yang
I was a child in Yung-yang,
A little child I waved farewell.
After long years again I dwell
In world-forgotten Yung-yang.
Yet I recall my play-time,
And in my dreams I see
The little ghosts of May-time
Waving farewell to me.
My father's house in Yung-yang
Has fallen upon evil days.
No kinsmen o'er the crooked ways
Hail me as once in Yung-yang.
p. 66
No longer stands the old Moot-hall,
Gone is the market from the town;
The very hills have tumbled down
And stoned the valleys in their fall.
Only the waters of the Ch'in and Wei
Roll green and changeless as in days gone by.
Yet I recall my play-time,
And in my dreams I see
The little ghosts of May-time
Waving farewell to me.
