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HOUSE AT SOUTH HILL
In middle age, I found the Buddha Way.
In old age, I've settled here at South Hill.
Often on a whim I go walking alone:
small portions of nature known just to me.
I can trek up to the source of a stream
and sit down to see when the clouds will rise.
Sometimes I meet this old man in the woods
and we talk and laugh and forget to leave.
--Wang Wei
WEI CITY SONG
A morning rain settles the light dust.
Willows by the inn green up again.
Have one more cup of wine here with me.
No old friends will be west of Yang Pass.
--Wang Wei
FARM HOUSES BY WEI RIVER
Setting sun--slanting rays bright on the hills.
Sheep and cattle return to scruffy lanes.
In the field, old folks, leaning on their staffs,
watch for the herdboys by the fruitwood gate.
Pheasants call in rows of ripening wheat.
Silkworms sleep as mulberry leaves grow sparse.
Returning workers, still bearing their hoes,
stream together and linger long to chat.
Beginning to envy their end-of-day ease,
hopelessly then, I hum a song from the Odes.
--Wang Wei
What is helpful to know here is that Wang Wei was a wealthy, highly educated man, a painter and government official, as well as a poet. He would have been steeped in the ancient classics, which included the Book of Odes. And here he is observing the life of peasants, who presumably would not have been able to read that book.
