The Old Dust
Li Po
The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home. One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth, Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages. The rabbit in the moon pounds the medicine in vain; Fu-sang, the tree of immortality, has crumbled to kindling wood. Man dies, his white bones are dumb without a word When the green pines feel the coming of the spring. Looking back, I sigh; looking before, I sigh again. What is there to prize in the life's vaporous glory?
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Next 10 Poems
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- Li Po : The Cold Clear Spring At Nanyang
- Li Po : Taking Leave Of A Friend
- Li Po : Summer In The Mountains
- Li Po : Spring Night In Lo-yang Hearing A Flute
- Li Po : Song Of The Jade Cup
- Li Po : Song Of The Forge
- Li Po : She Spins Silk
- Li Po : Self-abandonment
- Li Po : Resentment Near The Jade Stairs
- Li Po : Quiet Night Thoughts