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Li Po Short Poems

Famous Short Li Po Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Li Po. A collection of the all-time best Li Po short poems


by Li Po
 There was wine in a cup of gold
and a girl of fifteen from Wu,
her eyebrows painted dark
and with slippers of red brocade.
If her conversation was poor, how beautifully she could sing! Together we dined and drank until she settled in my arms.
Behind her curtains embroidered with lotuses, how could I refuse the temptation of her advances?



by Li Po
 Far up river in Szechuan,
waters rise as spring winds roar.
How can I dare to meet her now, to brave the dangerous gorge? The grass grows green in the valley below where silk worms silently spin.
Her hands work threads that never end, dawn to dusk when the cuckoo sings.

by Li Po
 You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain; 
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown, I have a world apart that is not among men.

by Li Po
 I sat srinking and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream; The birds were gone, and men also few.

by Li Po
 The forge-fire sets a glow in the heavens,
the hammer thunders, showering the smoke with sparks.
A ruddy smithy, the white face of the moon, and the hammer, ringing down cold dark canyons.

by Li Po
 The moon shimmers in green water.
White herons fly through the moonlight.
The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts: into the night, singing, they paddle home together.

by Li Po
 I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat his face was sad-- in the years since we last parted, he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then, he must be agonizing over poetry again.



by Li Po
 Chuang Tzu in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Tzu at waking.
Which was the real—the butterfly or the man ? Who can tell the end of the endless changes of things? The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea Returns anon to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city, Was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil,—what for?

by Li Po
 To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows,
We drained a hundred jugs of wine.
A splendid night it was .
.
.
.
In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed, But at last drunkenness overtook us; And we laid ourselves down on the empty mountain, The earth for pillow, and the great heaven for coverlet.

by Li Po
 Before my bed
there is bright moonlight
So that it seems
Like frost on the ground:

Lifting my head
I watch the bright moon,
Lowering my head
I dream that I'm home.

by Li Po
 I came here a wanderer
thinking of home,
remembering my far away Ch'ang-an.
And then, from deep in Yellow Crane Pavillion, I heard a beautiful bamboo flute play "Falling Plum Blossoms.
" It was late spring in a city by the river.

by Li Po
 All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other - Only the mountain and I.

by Li Po
 Phoenixes that play here once, so that the place was named for them,
Have abandoned it now to this desolated river;
The paths of Wu Palace are crooked with weeds;
The garments of Chin are ancient dust.
.
.
.
Like this green horizon halving the Three Peaks, Like this Island of White Egrets dividing the river, A cloud has risen between the Light of Heaven and me, To hide his city from my melancholy heart.

by Li Po
 The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full; With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks; The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.

by Li Po
 Drunk on Dragon Hill tonight,
the banished immortal, Great White,

turns among yellow flowers,
his smile wide,

as his hat sails away on the wind
and he dances away in the moonlight.

by Li Po
 My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At green Spring he lies in the empty woods, And is still asleep when the sun shines on igh.
A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat; A peebly stream cleans his heart and ears.
I envy you, who far from strife and talk Are high-propped on a pillow of blue cloud.

by Li Po
 As the two of us drink
together, while mountain
flowers blossom beside, we
down one cup after the other
until I am drunk and sleepy
so that you better go!
Tomorrow if you feel like it
do come and bring your lute
along with you!

by Li Po
 Under the crescent moon's faint glow
The washerman's bat resounds afar,
And the autumn breeze sighs tenderly.
But my heart has gone to the Tartar war, To bleak Kansuh and the steppes of snow, Calling my husband back to me.

by Li Po
 In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting,
scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang?
Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song,
who could help but long for the gardens of home?

by Li Po
 Where crowns a purple haze
Ashimmer in sunlight rays
The hill called Incense-Burner Peak, from far
To see, hung o'er the torrent's wall,
That waterfall
Vault sheer three thousand feet, you'd say
The Milky Way
Was tumbling from the high heavens, star on star

by Li Po
 "Bathed in fragrance,
do not brush your hat;
Washed in perfume,
do not shake your coat:

"Knowing the world
fears what is too pure,
The wisest man
prizes and stores light!"

By Bluewater
an old angler sat:
You and I together,
Let us go home.

by Li Po
 I love Master Meng.
Free as a flowing breeze, He is famous Throughout the world.
In rosy youth, he cast away Official cap and carriage.
Now, a white-haired elder, he reclines Amid pines and cloud.
Drunk beneath the moon, He often attains sagehood.
Lost among the flowers, He serves no lord.
How can I aspire to such a high mountain? Here below, to his clear fragrance, I bow.

by Li Po
 Sunlight streams on the river stones.
From high above, the river steadily plunges-- three thousand feet of sparkling water-- the Milky Way pouring down from heaven.

by Li Po
 I took leave of you, old friend, at the 
Yellow Crane Pavilion; 
In the mist and bloom of March, you went 
down to Yang-chou: 
A lonely sail, distant shades, extinguished by blue-- 
There, at the horizon, where river meets sky.

by Li Po
 Clouds bring back to mind her dress, the flowers her face.
Winds of spring caress the rail where sparkling dew-drops cluster.
If you cannot see her by the jewelled mountain top, Maybe on the moonlit Jasper Terrance you will meet her


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