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Du Fu - Alone, Looking For Blossoms Along The River
Work rating: Low

The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain — I`ve gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.

A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine — even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.

A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring`s vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life`s affairs bon voyage.

Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats — who could bear it?

East of the river, before Abbot Huang`s grave, 
Spring is a frail splendor among gentle breezes.
In this crush of peach blossoms opening ownerless,
Shall I treasure light reds, or treasure them dark?

At Madame Huang`s house, blossoms fill the paths:
Thousands, tens of thousands haul the branches down.
And butterflies linger playfully — an unbroken
Dance floating to songs orioles sing at their ease.

I don`t so love blossoms I want to die. I`m afraid,
Once they are gone, of old age still more impetuous.
And they scatter gladly, by the branchful. Let`s talk
Things over, little buds —-open delicately, sparingly.
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