On Passing Jia Yi's House in Changsha
- Poetry of Liu Changqing

Here, where you spent your three years' exile,

To be mourned in Chu ten thousand years,

Can I trace your footprint in the autumn grass --

Or only slanting sunlight through the bleak woods?

If even good Emperor Wen was cold-hearted,

Could you hope that the dull river Xiang would understand you,

These desolate waters, these taciturn mountains,

When you came, like me, so far away?