Li Po: Bright Autumntide

I climb the mountain of Tsyu-i. I look down on clear rivers. Coldly the Syan speeds along, cold as it widens to meet the sea. Clouds break into autumn tints, the skies are flaked with golden foam. I am now in the foreign regions of Tsin and U; and countless are the miles of the trackless way, brushed by the wings of birds alone, lying between me and my native land. Now with its half-disk leaning upon some island sets the evening sun. The lake is beginning to glow. There soars the moon from the rim of the far-off sea. And all my thoughts are plunged into the hardy loveliness of autumntide. Northward I wander in dream to Yan, southward I search for Yuye… The lotus is falling, falling. The river is jewelled with autumn hues. Long, long the wind blows…Long, long the night wears! Fain would I grasp the incredible… Oh! to fly away seaward and dream for a little by its shores!… To take from an island in blue ocean the six monsters— p. 54 Alas, there is no such length of line. My hand caresses the surging wind; I am deeper drowned in sorrow. I will away! away! Too strong is the life of men for me. There in the magical land of P‘eng-lai I will gather the grass of immortality.