China DOS Union

Dim pale yellow, with a soft nature,
Affection sparse and traces far, only the fragrance remains.
Why need shallow green or deep red colors?
It is naturally first-rate among flowers.

Plum must be jealous, chrysanthemum should feel ashamed,
Where it blooms by the painted railing, it crowns Mid-Autumn.
How could the poets have been so lacking in feeling,
Why was it not taken up in those years?


:
Chinese Poetry - Northern Song - Li Qingzhao


Mid-Autumn has just passed,
And now Double Ninth arrives again.
The dew has just turned cold,
The chill is about to announce itself.
Green fragrance urges the water caltrop by the islet,
Yellow grows dense and crowds the courtyard grass.
I am not yet old,
Yet at Lantian Bridge in vain the frost-beaten fulling block is hurried on.

The lamp's halo reflects the figure,
Through the broken door the silver moon looks small.
The wine cup is before my eyes,
But who is there to pour it for me?
Forcing myself to spread the quilt once shared,
In sorrow I remove the cap once worn in happy times.
You must believe,
The wild heart has not yet rested, and feelings are not easily aged.


:
Chinese Poetry - Northern Song - Li Zhiyi



The evening clouds have all withdrawn, overflowing with clear chill,
The Silver River turns the jade plate in silence.
This life, this night, are not long destined to be so fine,
Where shall we look at the bright moon next year?


:
Chinese Poetry - Northern Song - Su Shi



Who plays the jade flute through Mid-Autumn? Yellow Crane flies back, recognizing an old outing.
The Han trees have feeling, stretching across the northern islet; the Shu River is speechless, embracing the southern tower.
Torch-bright are the market lights at the third watch; banners that shake the moon, and boats from ten thousand li away.
I only laugh at the fishing man of perch country—just because Wuchang fish are good, he lingers on.


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Fan Chengda



Reed leaves fill the sandbank,
Cold sand carries a shallow current.
After twenty years I pass South Tower again.
The boat tied beneath the willows is still not steady—
How many days can it be, and already Mid-Autumn again?

At the head of the broken Yellow Crane rock,
Has an old friend ever been here?
The old rivers and mountains are all new sorrow.
I would like to buy osmanthus and carry wine together,
Yet in the end it is not like the roaming of youth.


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Liu Guo



Drinking at Mid-Autumn until dawn, a guest said the ancients had verses on awaiting the moon but none on sending off the moon, so I used the style of Tianwen to compose this

Poor lovely moon of this night—toward where,
drifting off so leisurely?
Is there another human world,
where over there it is just being seen, its light appearing in the east?
Or is it in the vastness beyond heaven,
with only the long wind, mighty and boundless, escorting Mid-Autumn away?
Who has tied up this flying mirror with no root?
If Chang'e is not wed, who keeps her there?　

It is said it passed across the sea bottom, yet there is no way to ask;
it leaves one dazed and sorrowful.
I fear some whale of ten thousand li,
rushing crosswise and smashing apart
the jade halls and jeweled towers.
The toad indeed can bathe in water,
but tell me how the jade rabbit knows how to sink and float?
If you say all is equally unharmed,
then why does it gradually become like a hook?


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Xin Qiji



Seeing off Vice Prefect Fan in Chuzhou

In old age, the taste of feeling lessens;
facing the farewell wine, I fear the passing years.
Besides, counting on my fingers, at Mid-Autumn
the perfectly fine moon does not shine on human reunion.
Heartless water pays no heed at all,
together with the west wind it only sends the returning boat away.
Late autumn on the river with water shield and perch,
deep at night before the lamp, children and wife.

This traveler's robe—
it would be best to go on to court.
In the jade halls they are just thinking of the worthy.
I imagine at midnight in Chengming Hall
they will keep you there to draft edicts,
yet send you off to plan the frontier.
If old friends in Chang'an ask about me,
say my grief-stricken bowels cling to wine just the same as ever.
My gaze follows the wild geese falling through the autumn sky;
when drunk, I sometimes strike the empty strings.


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Xin Qiji



On the second night after Mid-Autumn in the gengxu year, drinking a little at Zhuangang in Daihu

Moonlit towers at night, courtyards fragrant with autumn,
smiling, people come and go.
Who is it that turns desolate as soon as autumn arrives?
Was Song Yu in those years really so sorrowful?

Simple cups and dishes, casual songs and dances—
ask it, what is there here worth grieving over?
Thinking it over, there are times for sorrow too:
Double Ninth is near, and there is much wind and rain.


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Xin Qiji



Written for Lü Shuqian at Mid-Autumn in Jiankang

A round autumn shadow turns upon golden waves,
the flying mirror is polished once more.
Raising my cup, I ask Heng'e:
How can the white-haired so欺 people like this!

Riding the wind would be best,
through the vast sky of ten thousand li, straight down over mountains and rivers.
Hack away that swaying cassia tree—
people say there would be even more pure light!


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Xin Qiji



Dongting and Qingcao—near Mid-Autumn,
there is not the slightest trace of wind.
A jade mirror, a crystal field, thirty thousand qing,
and I place my little skiff, a single leaf, upon it.
The pale moon shares its radiance, the Milky Way its reflection,
inside and out all are limpid and clear.
Leisurely my heart understands;
the subtle wonder is hard to tell you.

One should think of these years beyond the southern ridges,
alone the solitary light shines on me, my liver and gall all ice and snow.
My short hair is sparse, my lapels and sleeves cold,
steadily I drift on the vast empty blue sea.
I scoop up all the West River,
finely pour the Dipper,
and make the ten thousand forms my guests.
Knocking the gunwale, I whistle alone,
not knowing what night this night is!


:
Chinese Poetry - Southern Song - Zhang Xiaoxiang



Unable to foretell a wish across three lives, I often add another stretch of sorrow.
When depressed I knit my brow; when walking away I turn my head back several times.
Seeing only my own shadow before the wind, who could bear to be my companion beneath the moon?
If the moonlight has meaning, let it first climb the fair one's tower.


:
Chinese Poetry - Qing - Cao Xueqin



A brief stay in the capital—
already again it is the fine festival of Mid-Autumn.
By the fence, chrysanthemums bloom everywhere,
autumn's face looks as if freshly washed.
Songs on all four sides ended and at last broke Chu;
for eight years of flavor, I think only of Zhejiang.
Bitterly they forced me—
made me play the role of a moth-browed woman; I truly disdained it!

My body cannot stand among men,
yet my heart is fiercer than a man's!
Count all my life's courage and loyalty—
because of others it has often run hot.
Which common fellow's breast could know me?
A hero at road's end should be tempered by hardships.
In this boundless red dust,
where can I seek a true friend? My blue robe is wet!


:
Chinese Poetry - Modern - Qiu Jin



Autumn moonlight is like water,
Tonight it is especially bright.
In the great clear sky the clouds are unstained,
Through the long night the dew is soundless.
I look up, yet cannot reach it,
Pacing back and forth, something lingers in my thoughts.
The officers and men campaigning south at the islet—
What feelings do they have as they face this?


:
Chinese Poetry - Contemporary - Dong Biwu



On the island, in the eighth month, Mid-Autumn,
banana leaves sway,
longan fruit ripens and drops.
I do not know of "flower mornings and moonlit evenings,"
only because in these years I have seen too much wind and rain.
When passion summons a force-10 storm,
the heart does not know where it can anchor.

The road has already been chosen,
there are no rose blossoms,
yet I have never regretted it.
In moonlight people are prone to sleepwalking,
longing to gain, and also understanding tenderness.
To keep the blood from surging like this,
the pride of twenty-four years old is clearly not enough.
There must be solid shoulders
on which a weary head can rest;
there needs to be a pair of hands
to support the heaviest moments.
Though I understand
that life ought to be given over completely,
the more one keeps back for oneself,
the more sorrow there is.

September 1976


:
Chinese Poetry - Contemporary - Shu Ting



When did the bright moon first appear? Raising my cup, I ask the blue sky.
I do not know, in the heavenly palace halls, what year this night is.
I would ride the wind and return, yet fear those jade towers and crystal halls—
at such heights, the cold would be unbearable.
I rise and dance with my clear shadow—
how could it compare to the human world!

It turns around the vermilion pavilion,
sinks low by the carved windows,
shines on the sleepless.
It should bear no hatred—
why then is it always full when people are apart?
People have sorrow and joy, parting and reunion;
the moon has dimness and brightness, waxing and waning—
this has been hard to make complete since ancient times.
I only wish that people may last long,
and though a thousand li apart, share this beauty together.


:
Chinese Poetry - Northern Song - Su Shi



A bright moon rises above the sea,
At the ends of the earth, we share this moment.
Lovers resent the long distant night,
All evening they rise in longing.
I put out the candle and cherish the roomful of moonlight,
I put on my robe and feel the dew grow heavy.
I cannot bear to fill my hands and offer it away,
So I return to bed and dream of a fine meeting.


:
Chinese Poetry - Tang and Five Dynasties - Zhang Jiuling



Among the flowers, a jug of wine;
I drink alone, with no dear one beside me.
I raise my cup and invite the bright moon;
facing my shadow, we become three.
The moon, of course, does not understand drinking,
and the shadow only follows my body in vain.
For now I take the moon and shadow as companions;
to enjoy ourselves, we must seize the spring.
When I sing, the moon lingers and wanders;
when I dance, my shadow scatters in disorder.
Awake, we share our joy together;
drunk, each goes off separately.
Let us forever bind this unfeeling wandering,
and meet again far away in the Milky Way.


:
Chinese Poetry - Tang and Five Dynasties - Li Bai

So that's how it is~~~~ I was even thinking of hugging a book of Tang and Song poetry and searching through it, many thanks, many thanks!

Good...!! We can learn and repost too~~ nice and easy!

Need to thank brother ko, collected it~~~