Preface: Lingering Clouds is a poem about missing friends and kin. The wine vessel is filled with fresh brew, and the garden displays its first blossoms of spring. Yet, my wish to see them remains unfulfilled; sighs fill my breast. Gathering, gathering, the lingering clouds;Drizzling, drizzling, the timely rain.Darkness shrouds the eight directions;Even the…
West from the small hill for one hundred and twenty steps, beyond the bamboo grove, I heard the sound of water, like the tinkling of jade pendants, which gladdened my heart. I cut through the bamboo to make a path, and descending, I saw a small pond, the water exceptionally clear and cold. The…
— Zhang Ji The River Xiang unruffled in autumn looks wide; The wayfarer at moonset leaves the riverside. We see wayfarers come, we see wayfarers go. Over white duckweed partridges fly to and fro.