Akhmatova, Anna | Arabian Nights | Arp, Jean Hans | Attar | Atwood, Margaret | Baba Tahir Oryan of Hamadan | Baudelaire, Charles | Behramoglu, Ataol | Blake, William | Brecht, Bertolt | Breton, André | Byron, Gordon George (Lord) | Carroll, Lewis | C'hang Ling, Wan | Chen, Yuan | Clough, Arthur Hugh | Coleridge, Samuel Taylor | Confucius | Cosbuc, George | Cummings, Edward Estlin | Dario, Ruben | De Cleyre, Voltairine | De Vere, Aubrey | Dickinson, Emily | Donne, John | Eluard, Paul | Emerson, Ralph Waldo | Emre, Yunus | Faiz, Faiz Ahmed | Farrokhzad, Forough | Ferdowsi | Gay, John | Gibran, Khalil | Ginsberg, Allen | Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von | Hafiz | Herrick, Robert | Hikmet, Nazim | Homer | Hughes, Langston | Hung, Han | Jamal, Mo | Jones, LeRoi | Keats, John | Kipling, Rudyard | Kushrau, Amir | Lawson, Henry | Lennon, John | Levertov, Denise | Lindsay, Vachel | Mayakovsky, Vladimir | Milligan, Spike | Mistral, Gabriela | Morrisson, Jim | Neruda, Pablo | O'Shaughnessy, Arthur | Parker, Dorothy | Paterson, Andrew Barton "Banjo" | Paz, Octavio | Plath, Sylvia | Poe, Edgar Allen | Pope, Alexander | Rilke, Rainer Maria | Rumi, Djalal-ud-Din | Saales, Akhavan | Scott, F.R. | Sepehri, Sohrab | Shakespeare, William | Shamlu, Ahmad | Shelley, Percy Bysshe | Sheridan, Richard B. | Tennyson, Alfred | Thomas, Dylan | Turold | Veli Kanik, Ohran | Whitman, Walt | Wilde, Oscar | Williams, William Carlos | Wordsworth, William | Yeats, William Butler | Yushij, Nima
The Summer Palace
In the faded old imperial palace,
Peonies are red, but no one comes to see them. . . .
The ladies-in-waiting have grown white-haired
Debating the pomps of Emperor Hsuan-tsung.
O youngest, best-loved daughter of Hsieh,
Who unluckily married this penniless scholar,
You patched my clothes from your own wicker basket,
And I coaxed off your hairpins of gold, to buy wine with;
For dinner we had to pick wild herbs -
And to use dry locust-leaves for our kindling.
. . . Today they are paying me a hundred thousand -
And all that I can bring to you is a temple of sacrifice.
We joked, long ago, about one of us dying,
But suddenly, before my eyes, you are gone.
Almost all your clothes have been given away;
Your needleworok is sealed, I dare not look at it. . . .
I continue your bounty to our men and our maids -
Sometimes, in a dream, I bring you gifts.
. . . This is a sorrow that all mandkind must know -
But not as those know it who have been poor together.
I sit here alone, mourning for us both.
How many years do I lack now of my threescore and ten?
There have been better men than I to whom heaven denied a son,
There was a better poet than I whose dead wife could not hear him.
What have I to hope for in the darkness of our tomb?
You and I had little faith in a meeting after death -
Yet my open eyes can see all night
That lifelong trouble of your brow.