On the trail from Han River to Lumenshan

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Remembering Meng Haoran On Trip to Xiangyang

Bai Juyi 772-846 Mountains of Chu, endless green cliffs, Waters of the Han ceaseless flow. Together they merge elegantly With Master Meng's writings. Now in poor imitation of his work, I reminisce at his hometown. Refreshing breeze, no one to succeed him, Darkening day, hovers over empty Xiangyang. Gazing south to Deer Gate Hill, Seem to sense the fragrance of his verse. Ancient... hidden... I don't know where, Clouds thick... trees old... hoary.�

Yóu Xiāngyáng Huái Mèng Hàorán

Chu shān bì yányán, Hànshuǐ bí shangshang. Xiùqi jiéchéng xiàng, Mèngshì zhī wénzhāng. Jīn wǒ fěng yíwén, Sī rén zhì qí xiāng. Qīngfēng wú rén jì, Rìmù kōng Xiāngyáng. Nán wàng Lùménshān, Ǎi ruò yǒu yú fāng. Jiù yǐn bù zhī chù, Yún shēn shù cāngcāng.

Translator:

Dongbo 東波

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