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Best Famous Wang Wei Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Wang Wei poems. This is a select list of the best famous Wang Wei poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Wang Wei poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Wang Wei poems.

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Written by Wang Wei | |

A GREEN STREAM

I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers, 
Borne by the channel of a green stream, 
Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains 
On a journey of less than thirty miles.
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Rapids hum over heaped rocks; But where light grows dim in the thick pines, The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns And weeds are lush along the banks.
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Down in my heart I have always been as pure As this limpid water is.
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Oh, to remain on a broad flat rock And to cast a fishing-line forever!


Written by Wang Wei | |

THE BEAUTIFUL XI SHI

Since beauty is honoured all over the Empire, 
How could Xi Shi remain humbly at home? -- 
Washing clothes at dawn by a southern lake -- 
And that evening a great lady in a palace of the north: 
Lowly one day, no different from the others, 
The next day exalted, everyone praising her.
No more would her own hands powder her face Or arrange on her shoulders a silken robe.
And the more the King loved her, the lovelier she looked, Blinding him away from wisdom.
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Girls who had once washed silk beside her Were kept at a distance from her chariot.
And none of the girls in her neighbours' houses By pursing their brows could copy her beauty.


Written by Wang Wei | |

A SONG OF A GIRL FROM LOYANG

There's a girl from Loyang in the door across the street, 
She looks fifteen, she may be a little older.
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While her master rides his rapid horse with jade bit an bridle, Her handmaid brings her cod-fish in a golden plate.
On her painted pavilions, facing red towers, Cornices are pink and green with peach-bloom and with willow, Canopies of silk awn her seven-scented chair, And rare fans shade her, home to her nine-flowered curtains.
Her lord, with rank and wealth and in the bud of life, Exceeds in munificence the richest men of old.
He favours this girl of lowly birth, he has her taught to dance; And he gives away his coral-trees to almost anyone.
The wind of dawn just stirs when his nine soft lights go out, Those nine soft lights like petals in a flying chain of flowers.
Between dances she has barely time for singing over the songs; No sooner is she dressed again than incense burns before her.
Those she knows in town are only the rich and the lavish, And day and night she is visiting the hosts of the gayest mansions.
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Who notices the girl from Yue with a face of white jade, Humble, poor, alone, by the river, washing silk?


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Written by Wang Wei | |

AT PARTING

I dismount from my horse and I offer you wine, 
And I ask you where you are going and why.
And you answer: "I am discontent And would rest at the foot of the southern mountain.
So give me leave and ask me no questions.
White clouds pass there without end.
"


Written by Wang Wei | |

A MESSAGE FROM MY LODGE AT WANGCHUAN TO PEI DI

The mountains are cold and blue now 
And the autumn waters have run all day.
By my thatch door, leaning on my staff, I listen to cicadas in the evening wind.
Sunset lingers at the ferry, Supper-smoke floats up from the houses.
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Oh, when shall I pledge the great Hermit again And sing a wild poem at Five Willows?


Written by Wang Wei | |

TO QIWU QIAN BOUND HOME AFTER FAILING IN AN EXAMINATION

In a happy reign there should be no hermits; 
The wise and able should consult together.
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So you, a man of the eastern mountains, Gave up your life of picking herbs And came all the way to the Gate of Gold -- But you found your devotion unavailing.
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To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers, You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities.
I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital -- Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend.
In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood You will float again toward your own thatch door, Led along by distant trees To a sunset shining on a far-away town.
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What though your purpose happened to fail, Doubt not that some of us can hear high music.


Written by Wang Wei | |

SONG OF AN OLD GENERAL

When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty, 
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him, 
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger, 
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles, With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
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Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron, General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn: Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird, Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden, He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove, His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
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War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range; Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages; In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men -- And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow- Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain -- That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
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There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away, Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.


Written by Wang Wei | |

A SONG OF PEACH-BLOSSOM RIVER

A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains, 
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men! It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through; But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path -- And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees, And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos.
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Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han; And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River, On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart, Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon, Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
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At news of a stranger the people all assemble, And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning, And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk.
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They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge; They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away, No one in the cave knowing anything outside, Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
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The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune, Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties, Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers, Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind, And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
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It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain, A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals -- Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?


Written by Wang Wei | |

A FARM-HOUSE ON THE WEI RIVER

In the slant of the sun on the country-side, 
Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; 
And a rugged old man in a thatch door 
Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy.
There are whirring pheasants? full wheat-ears, Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves.
And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, Hail one another familiarly.
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No wonder I long for the simple life And am sighing the old song, Oh, to go Back Again!


Written by Wang Wei | |

Huazi Ridge

 Fly bird go no limit 
Join mountain again autumn colour 
Up down Huazi Ridge 
Melancholy feeling what extreme 


A bird in flight goes on without limit, 
Joined hills are autumn's colours again.
From top to bottom of Huazi Ridge, Melancholy feeling has no end.


Written by Wang Wei | |

A Song of an Autumn Night.

 Under the crescent moon a light autumn dew 
Has chilled the robe she will not change -- 
And she touches a silver lute all night, 
Afraid to go back to her empty room.


Written by Wang Wei | |

In The Hills

 White rocks jutting from Ching stream
The weather's cold, red leaves few
No rain at all on the paths in the hills
Clothes are wet with the blue air.


Written by Wang Wei | |

Farewell

 I have got my leave.
Bid me farewell, my brothers! I bow to you all and take my departure.
Here I give back the keys of my door ---and I give up all claims to my house.
I only ask for last kind words from you.
We were neighbors for long, but I received more than I could give.
Now the day has dawned and the lamp that lit my dark corner is out.
A summons has come and I am ready for my journey.


Written by Wang Wei | |

Farewell

 FAREWELL, and when forth
I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles
Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles,
Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south,
Isle upon island, sea upon sea,
Why should I sail, why should the breeze?
I have been young, and I have counted friends.
A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late.
Why should I from isle to isle Sail, a hopeless sailor?


Written by Wang Wei | |

Remembrance

 THERE were many burning hours on the heartsweet tide,
 And we passed away from ourselves, forgetting all
The immortal moods that faded, the god who died,
 Hastening away to the King on a distant call.
There were ruby dews were shed when the heart was riven, And passionate pleading and prayers to the dead we had wronged; And we passed away, unremembering and unforgiven, Hastening away to the King for the peace we longed.
Love unremembered and heart-ache we left behind, We forsook them, unheeding, hastening away in our flight; We knew the hearts we had wronged of old we would find When we came to the fold of the King for rest in the night.