Po Chü-i: A Night on Lake T‘ai

Water and sky, as dusk folds down, together blend in a grey green mist Clear silhouettes of the trees are limned on a sunset of rose and amethyst. Moon doth creep from the bed of the deep paling the storm-black waves afar; Through frosted rushes ripe oranges are gleaming golden star on star. I am void of cares and affairs, so happily drink and dream in peace. Loud and shrill may the reed-pipes trill; when they touch my heart they cease. But my ten little painted ships to-night, where shall they anchored lie? At the foot of the Tung-t‘ing mountain, on the cold deep breast of lake T‘ai,