Friday, February 22, 2008

Tao Qian: birds returning home


I settled in a place where others dwell.
But I hear no clamor from cart or horse.
Sir, you ask me how this is so?
The distant heart is a remote place.
I pluck blossoms below the eastern hedge.
I gaze lazily at the southern peaks.
The mountain air is lovely at sunset.
Flying birds return home together.
There is a deeper meaning in all of these-
I want to express it, but I cannot find the words.

Tao Qian (365-427)
Drinking Wine