the abyss where ancient fish leap and gaunt dragons dance

A nice quiet day in which very little got done.

---

To the Harp Player

On the taut silk-spun strings of high autumn
Clouds resound against the empty mountains.
Like the daughters of Shao who wept among bamboos
Or like the sad white girl who plucked the strings,
So does Li P'ing play his harp through the country,
Clean as split jade, soft as the bluebird's song,
Sad as dewdrops on lotos leaves, happy as fragrant orchids.
His song melts the ice on the twelve imperial gates.
His twenty-three strings move the heart of the purple-robed king.
Listen, from the stone-mended cliffs of Heaven that the goddess restored,
The stone broke again, the sky shuddered, autumn rains fell,
But the harper walked in a dream to teach the old goddess on the mountain
Near the abyss where ancient fish leap and gaunt dragons dance.
The unsleeping listener leaned on a cinnamon bough
And saw the feet of the dew climbing up the shivering Hare.

-- Li Ho, translated by Ho Chih-yuan