By
Josef Maria Mayer
FIRST SONG
AUTUMN
O for the
cup full of love’s lust,
That you
sent to me as a flash,
Here, these
verses from the poet's breast,
They are
nothing more than a modest thank.
And comes
the autumn up with stars, seven
Pleiades,
but without song and wine,
How can I
love with all my heart
At night
Mistress Moon with sweet notes?
When we met
again today, O poet ,
The first
sheet has separated itself from the branch,
The lake
affects the star-lights,
The flood
merges with God's firmament.
We spoke
about love in our youth,
About
idleness and the old wines,
We looked
peeping to the Great Bear
And had
bitter cries of disappointment!
The
mountain’s juniper covers up the mountains,
The bushes
create the moon’s beauty,
And above
the mountain the group of egrets
And in the
valley the laughing of young monkeys.
The moon is
setting and the crow cries,
The sky is
filled with sharp frost.
The stream
flows with the many fishes far,
The tree
looks like melancholy without consolation!
In the
village of Ku-Su outside the wall
The
monastery does not deviate from the cold mountains,
The sound
of bells at midnight fully showers,
The
stranger boat like the angel’s greeting reached.
The night
did not need the light,
The ship
illuminates the moonshine dream.
The green
maple in front of the monastery gate,
The red
tower on the white water's edge.
The crows
caw silent of vain dreams,
The heron
weighs itself simply in slumber.
The
ferryman with white hair at the crown
Look out
the window, because he will not sleep.
The clouds
do not silvery bloom in symmetry,
The
mountain’s symmetry similar to the old ways,
However,
the clouds in the green sky
Sojourn in
wrong formations, circling.
In the
early moon hurries the flock of clouds
And
hovering the thousand treetops,
Where
shares the White Path of Heaven
In the far
west at the steep summit.
The
afterglow is getting older at the top,
How nightly
already rushing streams,
The firs
behold the moon, the night is colder,
The sources
fill my listening soul.
The servant
goes home, he just wants peace, the pious,
The crow
seeks its nest, warm, trustworthy,
The lady
longs that the night time may come,
On the
flowery ways drowned the sounds.
It's stormy
wind, the rain dances,
Before the
window casements hang crooked,
The bamboo
rustles, the old pines shine,
The lamp
light shines deep into the darkness.
Came the
night a friend to me? Oh, no!
Grieved my
heart is not with me.
Well, me
alone two bottles of wine remain
And my
lonely scholarly game on the lute.
Long the
cicadas have lamentations,
Alleviated
is simply too beautiful the silence,
Now also
extinguished the lamp, O Ancient of Days,
Now fades
the beautiful light in the night.
Only
through the window, through the dust,
I hear the
night rain splash and urge
And only
for the elongated banana leaf
Is this
drop the familiar sound.
The chaste
Lady Moon looks down on the world,
The
bedchamber rests lonely without husband,
At the
beaded curtain at the window fall
Single
green and black shadows.
The frost
of autumn falls in lighter weight,
The hand
feels with darkness,
And so she
cuts with scissors,
The
scissors cut black silhouettes.
At midnight
I went in the boat alone
After Chu.
There sank the moon’s dew,
The land
lay still in the silent moonlight,
The night
was dark, it was black and blue.
Lonely
cried in the fall forever
A white
monkey his complaints loudly.
Although I
was secular, with no worries,
The heart
of the grief was familiar again.
The grass
in the wind on the beach is as delicate as a dream,
Ship's mast
for the night, the waves rage,
The stars
hang quietly in the empty space,
The moon
floats on the White Stream’s flood.
Am I famous
as a singer and poet?
From the
office I am leaving once old and sick.
Who do I
like? From the whirlwind gone,
As above
the sea, the last seagull white.
I held the
sheet of paper with the poem
For the
candle down and read with fever cheeks.
Surely not
the dawn was breaking,
The song
died away, the light has gone out.
The eyes
are gone and the candles,
I sat in
the dark, with thoughts of death.
The wind
stirs waves on wild jokes,
The wind
was pounding furiously on the boat.
The Blue
Mountains are in the distance,
The water
is like fog on glass,
Perish also
of autumn stars,
And
everything must wither like grass.
The red
lotus flower dress falls down,
Your darker
scent disappears. Look this show:
Autumn
shines on the golden leaves again
With white
frost and crystal dew.
The
beautiful lady is silent about her suffering,
How
boundless stretch her sufferings,
Fine silk in
unusually short dress,
Do I say no
to balconies parapet.
A first
hill and a second hill,
The sea fog
cold, alone the boat,
The
mountains are high, the sky like a mirror,
The maple
of remembering scarlet.
The aster
bloomed and withered again,
In the north
the goose flies to the horizon,
The man has
not yet arrived, the woman is looking down,
The curtain
blowing in the wind under the moon.
In Chang-an
I see the crescent moon,
The woman I
see in front of the gate do knock the carpet,
The storm
from horizon to horizon
Storms
unstoppable, already drops the sky.
This
awakens my longing for the border,
When do the
victory over the barbarians come?
I see me in
the autumn after spring,
If there is
peace! Enough I have from war!
As
unstoppable flow of the river flood,
How cries
the woman of sorrow,
The sun
sets, the storm is full of anger,
The autumn
wind howls in red maple forest.
I do not
tear off the green willow branches,
They hang
in front of the blue house,
Only in the
quiet green water ponds
I pluck lotus
for the balcony.
Your horse
raises to the fence of the garden,
But nothing
else is to be seen at this location.
The clouds
gallop across the field,
Where is
bloody raging war and murder of people!
From the
balcony I saw Lady Moon there,
She
descended, her greeting was like a bell,
Your
greeting: never heard of the word of men,
The autumn
wind tugging at the belt and the coat!
Before
empty window bamboo clump blow,
It smells
like the house of smoke,
In front of
the gate the red soil dust turning
And in the
streets of the world only you.
The
Tao-master with the soul of oestrus
Learns
wisdom from the invisible spirits,
Immortality
is a religious art,
By breeding
the soul to the master for years.
Where naked
cliffs the crystal source
Running
from the immaculate mouth,
The veil
green, the dress reddish light
Reflected
in the river water basically.
And where
the farmer and the citizens do not
Know the
one who was in the service of the Emperor,
There it
entices me to read the poem
From the
southern, true flowers country.
The bush
was gray from evening dew,
In withered
leaves the wind makes noise,
The red
grace went to rest, look,
The black
beauty is sweet and chaste.
The hermit
in the face of the image
Appears on
transient earth,
His heart
desires only a chaste, mild,
Female
poverty in the radical nakedness!
The
disciples I asked for the old pines,
Only the
master herbs had collected,
He made his
way to the summit, I have to listen,
Where are
deep the clouds, the unknown site.
How can the
soul flee from the bill,
The dust
and noise of the world flee into the light?
Full
shyness consults the oracle purely
And comes
home to the peach blossom’s source!
I want to
wake up from the empty pleasure
And serve
God with good works and wise words,
I longed
for the pure love of your chest,
Plant the
soul in the order of monks!
The glow of
the check can bloom the soul
For
maturity in the mind,
And under
the breath of the power and virtue bold
Opened to
you soon Wisdom blooming!
The road
was empty, as I rode, a philosopher
And poet
without a companion,
Just rest
and slumber in the monastery,
May be
fulfilled my hope today.
When at
night I rested in the Föng-Temple,
I raised my
hand to reach the stars.
Then I said
in a low whisper only to good spirits,
Demons do
not scare by talking.
The source
wreathes herbs along the paths,
The cloud
glows in cool winds of Nothing.
The bamboo
is trembling after the cold rain,
The
mountain beautifies the splendour of evening light.
On the
ponds the lotus sits flourishing,
Frosted
asters gaze with bleary eyes,
Full grace
to bring a smile to strive,
Till
thunderstorms angry beat them down.
You shiver
as an unmarried virtue,
They wither
already in first worries lines.
Who painted
this picture of withered youth?
The
champion servant is called: the old man.
The
beautiful tree is blowing in the west wind,
In the
autumn boat with heavy dark wine,
I look at
the clouds flying in the land of Wu,
Since I
travel some earlier incident.
Powerful I
sing a song to the lute clear,
I hang a
curtain tender before the mirror,
The last I
was a wild young man,
I have gray
hair in my beard now.
In the
evening playing her flute blackbirds,
The wild
goose attracts them with parting words,
At sea
foams drives the afterglow,
The cloud
burgundy reflected in the river.
The grasses
foam from the island’s mouth,
The red of
the maple glows in the garden far,
On the
shore from sea foam is wet the ground.
Succeeded
the ninth moon her best dress?
A peregrine
falcon flew away in the sky,
In the
Huang He drove a couple of gulls,
He hit her
in the name of the Lord,
The
carefree swimming in the world operating.
In the
bottom wet with dew and love,
Cobwebs
blew unconnected, shuddering.
The sky was
invading the world’s gear,
I stood
alone, mourning above all beings!
The club
appointed as an orphan of the moon
And lights
on the boat in calm repose,
The White
Star’s power on the horizon
Flows to
bright boundless distance.
Home one
knows neither right nor left
And also I
do not know that this was my anchor.
The round
fog on the steep mountains,
I earned
nothing but heart pains a lot!
The fog
hung over the cold waters
And above
the beaches drives Lady Moon,
As night we
moored and went by boat,
We were
served with heavy dark wine.
From an
anguish of homeless
Do not know
anything the lady who looks so beautiful.
The wilting
under autumn scarlet roses
Performances
an amorous song of spring!
The eighth
month frost sends to the earth ,
The yellow
of the weeping willows is immense,
Autumn
storm bows down the raspberry bush
And in the
sweet south draws the geese.
On foams
the flood dikes, Lady Moon is shining
And the
mountain looks down from the clouds home,
And crying
on the mountain of the sky sign
I stand and
look after my home.
When dew
falls, I can already speak of the fog
And how in
the frost of asters withered redness,
The weather
storms, so that the pastures break
And my tear
drops to the jade flute.
The tower
on the river is built according to the rule,
On black
mountain the evening sun festival,
The night
comes and birds come home,
And the
magpie shrill cries out for their nest.
Where I
stay, when the autumn wind through the room
With his
wild goose flocks came dashing,
In the
morning invaded the courtyard tree
And the
pilgrims are heard so early?
In the last
light I went into the town,
Glum, with
whom I speak in the world,
The pious
way people go no more, no,
The autumn
storm harvests in the millet field.
I stand on
the dike, where the sun's rays died,
I hesitate
whether I should go alone,
The trees
are already in autumn colours,
The
mountains in the sunset glow appearance.
The dew of
autumn is in the ditch on the calves,
A small
boat is drifting before the wall,
In evening
breezes bathe the horses,
In the
green of the grass cicadas buzzing sung.
The nuts
ripen with the rain, look,
In the
eighth moon mist the mushroom matures,
At dawn the
dew falls white,
As I think
of the blue feeling.
The autumn
frost already coloured the leave’s hand,
The pear
tree reddish and as clear as glass.
I look
eastwards to the distant land,
At levels
of far meadow grass.
The home
spots located in the far ether,
The sun
rests, very lonely my journey,
The rivers
wander through the land of the fathers,
To limit my
road leads quietly.
Guardian
smoke does not want to stretch further,
On the dark
mountain stand free old pines.
Oh, how I
can not bear this hour tendons
And this
wild monkeys cry of lust?
In the
backyard of the gray ground, familiar,
In the
chestnut tree the crows rage,
The cool
evening dew comes without a sound
And wets
like love’s greeting of the cinnamon tree flowers.
That night
people go out
And look to
Lady Moon’s milk tavern,
But no one
knows where the woman is at home,
In the
autumn moon I think lonely full of love.
That round
mountain along
The sand
shines light like snow and silver lining
And on the
wall of Schou-dschiang
The
moonshine veil falls like frost.
Who is
sleepless at night, loses the time,
Throws
around the shell, occurs across goal and listens,
The Lady
Moon cool, autumn bamboo freezes,
The wind is
rugged, the night rushes in the window.
In the old
park of yellow leaves rain
Is full of
the green moss in the clear fount,
After dark
visions wail on the wall,
At the very
dawn early the horn.
That night
I was sent into the heart
From other
unseen pains difficult,
I was half
completed in the glow of Lady Moon
As a
restless shadow back and forth.
When the
Han-pass rotate the car axles,
One
thousand Li to ride hometown.
In a night
full of autumn storm has grown
Already the
gray hair in my beard.
In the
green bamboo grove of the monastery,
In the late
evening bronze bells sounded,
The last
rays of the hat of stray,
When you
went home by blue mountains.
I saw him
in the mountains after the end
And shut
the gates in the evening here,
If once the
spring flowers in abundance,
When comes
my grandson to me again?
The green
grass grows on the banks of the ponds,
The day's
sun was downgraded,
In the
yellow reeds fully fever haze the soft
And gentle
heart of the moorhen calls softly.
A man
swinging continues through pipe and reed
In his boat
with a heart heavy,
For a long
time fully drowned woe his farewell song
Clearly
forth from the water through the evening.
The noise
you are divorced from the house by the river,
Where the
orange glow is many-fold,
From the
river a mist went around down here
And
penetrated so frosty cold in my boat.
I thought
of how far the way for a man
In the
moonlight to Siang-Hill, the beautiful.
Full
sadness that I heard the monkeys then
At midnight
moan in my dreams.
A monkey
roars, the guest breaks alone,
It is night
and the moon is always yellow.
The man
himself makes the anguish,
The silent
lake rests secure in himself.
Together we
are in exile in sorrow,
But you
must continue further into new trouble.
Deep black
mountains are miles and miles away,
In between
like an orphan your boat.
In the
stable the animals are brought to rest,
The lady
already closed her garden gate
And wind
and moon in this clear night
And river
and mountain have no home for me.
A mountain
spring flows close to mountain walls,
From grass
roots to the dew drips exhilarating.
How must
the gray beard but in the lamplight
Bloom last
remnant but oppressive!
I advise
you of the cup of God 's blessing
Not to
refuse to drink the blood of the vine!
Even the
darkness comes with a lot of rain
And full of
farewell is the life of man.
I drank
with you on the flute ponds,
In the blue
light, I saw Lady Moon’s power.
The egrets
fled before singing
And lifted
from the ocean beach in the night.
The egrets
descends to the flood
Alone and as
the frost falls on the land.
Full calm
before the next fly, rests
He once
here on the island beach.
The herring
gulls hover in the air
And plunge
down to the sea tide.
In the west
sooner they lived their lives,
In the
dream they remember the miracle.
I was not
feeling well, I was so dark,
I saw the
old field was still the same,
The
afterglow unusually gorgeous,
Then the
evening came at twilight, the yellow.
The pale
sun goes down, the mountains blue,
Into the
sea crashes the Yellow Current’s stormy wave,
My eye
wants to look into the distance
And so I
join alone the tower.
In the
fields of the north, in the hill country,
There is
grave to grave lined up in silent grief.
The old
trees stand in autumn colours,
The ancient
tribes there at Lo-yang's wall.
In the
evening hours in the monastery’s lap
The bronze
bells drown out Alleluia.
But in the
north you can hear making noise only
The
evergreen trees of life.
Full
melancholy is the view of the sleepless cool,
And closer
annually comes to life’s limit,
A tired
heart and full of feeling
And can not
forget the spring of youth.
The candles
melt, then deprived of their light,
Comes to
the night the dawn, the clear,
Since the
peace lowers silent to the main
Of the man
who counts almost fifty years.
Grey hair
has the beard , the beard is getting longer,
And more
and more of the grief’s dripping dew,
In front of
the mirror my eyes shall close,
When did
this come in my beard gray?
The good
works of the poet's fame,
Lots of
errors I must confess in power’s awareness.
I check my
love’s martyrdom
And ask:
How and where do I recognize Wisdom?
You follow
what God revealed to you,
Much
knowledge makes you not really wise.
Although
the gray beard, what is a gray beard?
This way is
not much, so spoke softly.
The seasons
and the world’s gear
And in the
nights to urge the pious,
The sun
rises, is born the love,
The new
love of spring will come soon!
She sews a
dress and embroider the fine threads,
That he no
longer grasped at the winds.
The flute
plays for him his old girl,
The sparks
fly from the gray ash.
The
Christmas sacrifice sacrifices himself the worlds,
The catkins
are looking for the foams,
Mountain
forests catch cold in the white snow,
Soon,
however, sighing splits the plum!
The essence
mist is still undifferentiated,
Even in the
home of mist hovers fine,
O boy, give
me peace of mind,
In this
cup’s lap the hot wine!
To heaven
once sought my soul’s wings,
Now limping
I must tremble before the age!
Who knows
that in immaculate mirrors
The
archetype of his shadow must mourn?
SECOND SONG
SPRING
The new
year is in the sharp wind
Even
without flowers from the havens
In
February, the second moon begins,
The first
crocodile buds sprouting.
The weeping
willow without vitality
Even stands
out with its soft wood,
In the
ponds to the water curls juice,
Crystal ice
melted from the first heat.
Now no soul
knows rest,
What they
plan and what they will now begin.
At the same
time came the spring flood,
At the same
time came the spring wind.
The evening
dawn descends upon the land,
The
children return home at sunset.
The birds
fly to the sea-beach,
The
fisherman lonely crouching in the boat.
Already has
scattered the snow bright white
And by the
gentle breezes cheer dance,
Even the
ceiling opens also from ice
And the
country is warm sweet shine.
It melts
the spring approach, it reveals
The spring
with blue ribbon stripe.
Alone
remains for me in my long beard
A hem of
silver, old age.
When you
lock the new yellow of spring sprouted,
The new
yellow broke through the willow,
Delicately
the ice on that pond at the castle
Still not
completely melted by the sun.
How many
people are on the post,
From this
spring day’s happiness to say?
God asking,
I look up in the East,
God asking,
I am astonished at the Big Dipper.
The Yellow
River emerges from a distance
In the
woven cloud’s masterpiece,
I see the
Star City far from the world,
High to the
sky reaches the high mountain.
You're from
my home like a dream,
Do you know
of my country’s suffering?
Wore, when
you went away, even the plum tree,
The old
plum tree a light dress?
I saw the
plum blossom, my reader,
I heard
birds chirping in the steppe,
Full
longing I look to the spring grasses,
On the
lemongrass in my stairway.
In the
highlands of spring light came modestly
Before our
times later in the green gardens.
In March
still hung from the weeping willows
Not down
the bowed willow’s whips.
However,
today broke by the light of the sun far
The ice in
front of the hard wall ,
This is the
Chang-an precisely that time,
Since sails
sweet blessing of the blossoms fall.
The spring
first tapped into the sweet plum,
Then came
the cherry and apricot,
The pear,
peach blossoms then in foams,
Then the
hedge bloomed red rose,
The tulip
and then the modest violet
In the old
village green, the childlike religious.
To me also,
after a little while
The bilge
air with sweet love coming!
The days
are getting longer,
The meadows
are yellow like a honeycomb,
To the
north the white wild goose flies, look,
Due to high
heaven’s heights she returns home.
At
Yo-yang's wall you can hear the pain of love
To the
flute sound, sweet joy – bitter woe,
This sets
the sweet bilge like my heart
And filled
with love the Dung-Ting-Lake.
The
Liang-Park early in the morning on days
Of spring
leaves of crows spill itself,
On the rosy
horizon project
Two
families, three loved houses.
In the
backyard of the trees I know nothing
From a
human withering and age,
Spring
comes with a young shine of light,
It runs the
time of blossoms and butterflies.
From
somewhere in the darkness sweet
The flute
sounds with love’s abundance,
The flute
mingles with the spring wind
And fills
the white city on the blue river.
So I hear
in that night the love song,
From narrow
pastures hips that split.
Ah, what
man does not rise into mind
Longing for
home, for the old time?
Oh what
sadness! Last night in a dream
The soul
again rubbed through her garden,
Just as in
ancient times, through the foam
The flower
like the butterfly, the delicate.
A car
rolled there on the horizon
And
phoenix-like horses very quickly.
O sweet
nostalgia! Sea of
flowers and the moon
Unfolding
relish in the spring wind.
I shut the
door and shooing the pain, the pious,
But the
pain does not go away from the mind.
But what if
the spring breezes coming
And yet the
pain does not flee from the heart?
I wonder
where is in the old garden,
The way
that heals so many sorrows,
That
sometimes comes and goes again and again
And often
smiling dwells among men?
When I see
the lake of the castle lonely in the northeast,
I see a
pavilion filled with happiness,
After a
long separation of bittersweet woe
I found
saved back into this space.
Now I ask
the handmaid of the Lord alone,
That she
sweeps the room with her veil!
I myself
bring the bottle full of wine
And reach
into the strings of my lyre.
The
island’s south I roam in the morning,
The north
of the island I roam in the evening.
The
island’s birds without worries
Are
intimately like going old ways.
How sweet
the breath of spring was on the garden shed,
The willow
tendrils wrapped around me,
The
blackbirds I received,
When they
parted, a blackbird crying loudly!
The fog
shimmers like silver snow,
The slender
willow gently smiling, listening,
No wonder
that dreary woe of parting
And from a
violet wine I 'm intoxicated!
I still
think the scepter of my rod,
That writes
to the sky my love,
Because of
the heart increased desire, it cries the Good,
The lonely
remains on a dreary place!
In the
space swells the blue smoke, my heart,
For the
full cup I hold in my hand,
The lyre
sings of my pain of parting,
The path of
separation sneaks through the land;
The stars
take refuge in the trees there,
The Yellow
Stream flows nicely into the twilight.
But you go
so far away from Lo-yang!
When we
celebrate again the good-bye?
No place on
the Wall in the spring, where will not
The flower
dancing in the dresses fine silk!
In the wind
from the Far East in April
Stood wrong
bent the old weeping willows.
Towards the
evening the glow softens the wax,
The candles
give light that shines always quieter.
A delicate
shimmering veil of mist creeps
To the
palace of the God-anointed Emperor.
The evening
came, the wind with light rain,
The flower
flew like snow that glowed pink,
Hovered
slightly of the old castle wall,
But no one
looked at the beautiful flower.
I see the
flower that will not bloom,
The fog,
which does not want to be absent, to blow away,
There comes
a midnight moon in April,
The sun's
rays go away from the sky.
Since
coming to me a spring dream’s full oestrus,
Swiftly
flies the dream over, is hurry old,
He
disappears as the light morning mist.
Where's
firm grip in all this change?
To the
east, the river flows in the stormy wave
Through boundless
spring’s flowers robbery,
The old
imperial castle’s proud tower
Completely
already expired is to dust.
The
wanderer takes in the sunset the run
That dike
up and looks on the earth,
The spring
storm blows on poplar blossoms,
And
nostalgia, melancholy, longing hurts the man!
The trees
wrap veils of mist,
The east
wind drives to the beach, the waves, look,
Pastel
colours of the spring range full!
But at
night the cold is sharp and rough.
The
guardian drums on the drum today,
Silenced
the birds glide through the woods.
As he
thinks of the high feast’s joy,
The silk
sleeve’s burgundy stroking the strings.
As last
night in the quiet bridal chamber
The spring
wind lifted the rage of love,
Since the
spring wind in the lady called awake
Remembrance
of the Yellow Stream.
Then on the
soft slough of moment
In spring a
dream came, she enjoyed happy,
Who finally
felt in the south happiness,
Many
thousand Li in the desired distance.
In pale
light shines Lady Moon light drops,
Orion
sinks, it sinks the Big Dipper.
My darling,
are you coming or not?
My
favourite time you shall tell me!
Ah ,
yesterday night went to the lady’s skirt,
This
morning crawled blessing spider,
She takes
the make-up and of the anointing oil and spices,
Coming next
to her the bridegroom of love.
A tight
body lay on the silk cloth
And hung
loosely down the charm belt,
High fine
eyebrows joined
At the open
window that lady again.
The white
foam from the silken petticoat,
A small
gust of wind lifted the beautiful child,
Until open
to the skirt, like a bell
Sounds the
playful spring wind.
On the way
of the castle of spring the grass is green,
The flowers
on the branches smell across the country,
My desire
is without ceasing
And wishes
that unknown soul.
First, the
flowering rose at the source,
The Lord
now creeps over here.
I pray the
blush and the pink light
At the same
time not to bloom in May.
Who has
established these weeping willows
At this
ditch that was created by the builder?
Ah, do not
loop your belt through the branches,
In them,
the cricket lives lamenting!
At the
front of the house of the beautiful lady Huang Si
At the
ponds it blooms at the Spring Festival,
And a
thousand sweet flower clusters, they
Complain
sultry scent of the branches.
There I
always see the lovemaking of the moths
In the
usual wedding dances freely,
There also
the oriole plays the pious Psalter
And his
flute blows the cheer!
The pure
flower’s splendour ascended into heaven,
From close
to hardly see the flowery stars,
The pure
fragrance sank down to nature
And was
perceived only from a great distance.
The fresh
spring breeze is certainly
Very
devoted to tenderly delicate ornaments,
So he tore
the flower also from the branch
And gave
the white plum blossom to you.
I saw
modest red road dust,
The lady
raised in greeting my whip:
With all
the doors under weeping willows,
Where does
the lady live, this sensual and chaste one?
The green
grass with butterflies in crowds,
The yellow
willow with catkins foams,
The pure
peach blossom smiles mistaken,
Already
happening on the calyx of plum.
The east
wind idle, sweet passion
With its
bubbles of trouble can fight back
The spring
sun’s fresh vitality,
Prosperity
can be the loving desire.
With red
lips and long eyelashes tab,
The
beautiful lady celebrates until morn,
Since I
releasable from the old noble bottle
Full of
purple wine the hard cork.
The flute
in the afterglow last,
The guest
scattered in the posh - lovely town,
The heavily
intoxicated blessed sets
For a
thinly veiled beautiful girl.
The wax
drips from the candle in the night,
On your
sleeve glued the peach leaf,
The wine
pleasure and purple splendour
Speckled
dull your lap, o girl.
And you do
not go away! In bitter times
Were you my
comrade carousing!
But later
you will tremble in remembrance
And
repentance is then your old age.
Where
gentle and quiet spring in bloom dresses
Sprinkled
with pure flowers the balcony,
The
beautiful woman convert the page
Side by
side in the purple pavilion.
It buzzes
the woman’s love light-headed,
What
happened at night in the palace there.
But surly
the parrot turns to the hair,
Since no
sweet female dares to say a word.
The flute
of the seduced maid
Is delicate
and fine as faded floral scent.
The swing
rocked on the farm,
The night
has fallen heavy and humid.
From spring
tired, she does not feel anything from dawn,
Still she
listens only the bird’s flute.
A wild
storm blew at night when stars glister,
How many
blossoms fell, oh, how much?
In the
small garden of the blackbird a silent word
At the gate
dances with the butterflies in May.
Look,
winter goes quietly and quickly spring continues
And your
litter can no longer avoid
The
branches weave shade and I think
At the
closed gate and at the woman.
The soft
spring colours are gifts
From
heaven’s rain and morning dew.
The lady’s
litter no longer comes to the place,
The spring,
it seems, now avails of the leaves.
I have no
choice but the blackbird chat,
Until
calmly Vespers hour is coming.
In the soft
white of the golden nightgown light
She sits
and lifts the dark eyebrows
And from
the fatigue her face
Was like to
look an open book of life.
Now,
however, it assumes the window seat,
Dreamy and
headstrong and alone.
The golden
lyre and the parakeet chat
In her soul
with playing voices.
In the
atrium, white flowers, the shy frightens
In the wind
from the peach tree full of grace
And only
the blackbirds bring discomfort,
Urge in the
castle silence but their pecking.
Angular she
leaned on the bearing pad
In nameless
melancholy, the law of the world,
The belt
slack……………………………..
……………………………………………
