Page:The works of Li Po - Obata.djvu/134

 �73. IN THE SPRING-TIME ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE YANGTZE KIANG

The green spring — and what time?

The yellow bird sings and will not cease.

On the bank of the Kiang I am growing old, white- haired.

My homeward way lies lost beyond the horizon.

Though my thoughts fly into the clouds of Chin,

I remain with my shadow under the moon of Chu.

My life is a wasted thing,

My garden and fields have long been buried under weeds.

What am I to do so late in my years

But sing away and let alone the imperial gate of gold?

��[108]

�� �