Vol.1-1: prose & poems

ENThis time, I saw the grassland.

ENThe sky there is lovelier than elsewhere, the air so fresh, the sky so clear, that I always want to sing out loud to show my heart full of joy.

ENUnder the sky, a boundless green stretches for miles, yet it is not blurry and vague.

ENThere are small hills on every side; the flat land is green, and the hills are green too.

ENThe flock of sheep now climbs a hill, now comes down again; wherever they go, it is as if big white flowers were embroidered onto a boundless green carpet.

ENThe lines of those hills are so gentle and beautiful, like a Chinese painting rendered only in green wash without ink outlines; everywhere the emerald color seems about to flow, gently flowing into the edge of the clouds.

ENSuch a scene both makes one marvel and makes one feel at ease; one wants both to stand long and gaze all around, and to sit down and softly recite a beautiful little poem.

ENIn this scene, even the fine horses and big oxen sometimes stand still and motionless, as if savoring the endless delight of the grassland.

ENI move the boat to moor by a mist-veiled islet; as dusk falls, the traveler's sorrow grows anew.

ENThe wilds are vast, the sky hangs lower than the trees; the river is clear, the moon draws near to man.

ENBlack clouds spill like overturned ink but have not yet hidden the hills; white raindrops leap like bouncing pearls, scattering into the boat.

ENA ground-sweeping wind rushes in and suddenly blows it all away; below the Lake-Viewing Tower the water is as clear as the sky.

ENThe bright moon startles magpies from a branch; the cool breeze at midnight brings the cicadas' song.

ENAmid the fragrance of rice blossoms they speak of a bountiful year; listen — a chorus of frogs fills the air.

ENSeven or eight stars hang at the edge of the sky; two or three drops of rain fall before the hills.

ENThe old thatched inn stands by the grove of the earth-god shrine; the road turns past the brook bridge, and suddenly it comes into view.

ENThe Red Army fears not the hardships of the Long March; ten thousand rivers and a thousand mountains are but trifles.

ENThe winding Five Ridges rise like rippling wavelets; the mighty Wumeng Mountains roll by like little clay balls.

ENThe waters of the Jinsha lap the cloud-topped cliffs, warm; across the Dadu the bridge lies with its iron chains, cold.

ENHappier still at the thousand li of snow on the Min Mountains; once the three armies have crossed, every face breaks into a smile.

ENThe Yellow River winds through many bends with thousands of miles of sand; waves wash and wind tosses it, all the way from the horizon.

ENNow let us ride straight up to the Milky Way, and together reach the home of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl.

ENFor a thousand miles orioles sing, green reflecting red; in riverside villages and hillside towns, tavern banners flutter in the breeze.

ENThe Southern Dynasties left four hundred and eighty temples; how many towers and terraces now stand in the misty rain.

ENThe thatched eaves are swept so often they stay clean and mossless; the flowers and trees grow in tidy beds, planted by his own hand.

ENA stream guards the fields, encircling them with green; two mountains push open the door and usher their green inside.