Ho Chih-chang

by


When we met the first time at Ch'ang-an
He called me the "Lost Immortal".
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting.
Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine.
Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.


10

facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest


Add Ho Chih-chang to your library.

Return to the Li Bai library , or . . . Read the next poem; In Spring

© 2024 AmericanLiterature.com