Summary

Bai Li,  The Poet Li Po, A.D. 701-762

“ A cup of wine, under the flowering-trees:
I drink alone, for no friend is near.
Raising my cup, I beckon the bright moon,
For he, with my shadow, will make three men.
The moon, alas! is no drinker of wine:
Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.
Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave
I must make merry before the Spring is spent.
To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;
In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks.
”
Source: Gutenberg

Bai Li,  The Poet Li Po, A.D. 701-762

“ I fear I shall never return from my westward wandering; the way is steep and the rocks cannot be climbed.
Sometimes the voice of a bird calls among the ancient trees—a male calling to its wife, up and down through the woods. Sometimes a nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.
It would be easier to climb to Heaven than to walk the Szechwan Road; and those who hear the tale of it turn pale with fear.
Between the hill-tops and the sky there is not a cubit’s space. Withered pine-trees hang leaning over precipitous walls.
”
Source: Gutenberg

Bai Li,  The Poet Li Po, A.D. 701-762

“ I have often thought that Chinese poets are very limited in their range. They seem to be deficient in the quality of imagination. China has never produced a great epic poem. Of course I speak subject to correction, but I believe I am right in saying that China has never produced a poet comparable with Homer, Dante, Virgil, or Milton. There has been no one born with the power of telling a story like Homer. The poets of China appear to me to be emotional and descriptive, but incapable of any high flights of imagination. ”
Source: Gutenberg

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