In honor of Dragon Boat Day, we present his work from one of the genius poets of modern China.

Dark is our country—
I rejoice in the ray of dawn shooting up in the distance.
Who will sing loudly of women’s rights?
Joan of Arc.
Eight thousand feet of snow-capped waves—I am saddened by a sea of sin,
I look at East Asia in the stormy tide of the twentieth century.
If you hear mad words and weeping coming from my boudoir,
Don’t be surprised.
Isolated and confined,
Like the eternity of night.
Fettered and bound,
With no end in sight.
Knocking on Heaven’s door—no response,
How can I pour out my angry feelings?
Far and wide I summon the departed souls to no avail,
Nowhere to let out my hot-blooded zeal.
Alas, a frog at the bottom of a well; my wish always denied.
In vain emotions are stirred.

In honor of the Ching Ming Festival, we present this work by one of the great poets of ancient China.

Risen high — the moon of fall
Glows north on a Liaoyang barricade
The border is far — the moon gleams farther
Ice-bows flash as winds invade
Soldiers gaze back — home beats at the heart
And war-steeds balk at the beat of a drum
The north wind grieves in the frontier grass
And barbarous sands hide hordes to come
Frost freezes the swordblade into the sheath
Wind wears their banner to bits on the plain
Oh someday— someday —to bow near the palace
And never hear camp-gongs clang again

Ever since you went away
The face by the window has not lit up.
The clothes-pounder and block are mute at night;
The tall gates are closed during the day.
Into my bed curtains fireflies glide;
In front of the courtyard purple orchids bloom.
As nature withers, I know the season’s changing;
When wild geese arrive, I know the traveler is cold.
Your journey will end at winter’s close;
I’ll await your return at the start of spring.