Song of an Old Cypress
Before the Kongming Temple
lies an ancient cypress
With boughs of bronze
and roots of rock.
Its frosty skin rains down,
encircling the span of forty arms;
Its dark green leaves can reach
some two thousand feet of sky.
Ministers and rulers
had set a time to meet
And the trees they left behind,
the locals revered.
Clouds are coming now, bringing an air
that sits about the Witch's Gorge
While the moon sends a cold that passes
the mountain’s snowy white.
I recall in former times the path
around the Brocade Pavilion, to the east—
Lord Liu Bei and Kongming,
both enshrined, now reside in that hall.
On a lofty mountain, the trunks and
branches reach the ancient plains;
And there are paintings, sweet and graceful,
shown through the windows of an empty shrine.
Sinking, dropping, seizing land,
as though he holds the earth;
Tall, alone, among a sky
that’s vast and deep, with many winds.
A power sustaining him,
brilliant and divine,
Standing upright—a primal source—
a feat of Nature.
A great building will tilt
without its pillars and poles
But ten thousand pulling bulls can turn
their necks—for he is a heavy mountain.
He did not show his culture
yet has already startled the world;
And he cannot avoid being cut down,
but who will do it?
How can his bitter core escape
the crickets and ants?
A phoenix passes through
the sweet smelling leaves to rest.
Men of purpose and those withdrawn
do not complain—alas!
Since ancient times, those of great talent
have found it hard to be of use.
poem by Du Fu, translated by Frank Watson
Added by Dan Costinaş
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