For the first in the poetry series, go here.
Poem number nine is a named 'Moonlight Night' and is by another Chinese poet that I haven't heard of before, Tu Fu.
In Fuzhou, far away, my wife is watching
The moon alone tonight, and my thoughts fill
With sadness for my children, who can't think
Of me here in Changan; they're too young still.
Her cloud-soft-hair is moist with fragrant mist.
In the clear light her white arms sense the chill.
When will we feel the moonlight dry our tears,
Leaning together on our windowsill?
I can't help but wonder at how mature the love is in this poem. It isn't young or desperate at all. And yet it has a passionatle longing to it. Very nice. I may need to look into a serious guide to old Chinese poetry.
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