and now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
Until only the mountain remains.
—Li Po (8th century Chinese poet)
Spring Day: Thinking of Li Po
Li Po's poetry: no match anywhere.
Soaring, his imagination always above others.
Clear, fresh like Yü Hsin.
Vigorous, free-flowing like Pao Chao.
North of River Wei: trees of spring.
East of the Yangtze: clouds of sundown.
When can we talk about literature again
Over a bottle of wine?
—Tu Fu (8th century Chinese poet)