Poetry from Chang’an: Du Fu

The lamplight shines on my sleeplessness,
My mind clear, I smell the splendid incense.
Deep in the night, the hall rears up high,
The wind stirs, and gold is heard to clank.
The black sky masks the springtime court,
To the pure earth clings a hidden fragrance.
The Jade Rope wheels round and is cut,
The iron phoenix seems about to soar.
Sanskrit sometimes flows out from the temple,
The lingering bells still echo round my bed.
Tomorrow morning in the fertile field,
I’ll bitterly behold the yellow dirt.

–755-757 CE

The Qinling mountains “crowd upon Chang’an,” we learned in school.

Axé.

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