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Li Qing-zhao (1084 -- ca. 1151) to "Free-Spirited Fisherman" (yu-jia ao)

Billowing clouds touch sky and reach
the early morning fog,
the river of stars is ready to set,
a thousand sails dance.
My dreaming soul moves in a daze
to where the high god dwells -
I hear Heaven speak,
asking me with urgent concern
where I am going now

And I reply that my road is long,
and, alas, twilight draws on;
I worked at my poems and for nothing have
bold lines that cause surprise.
Into strong winds ninety thousand miles
Upward the Peng now flies.
Let that wind never stop,
let it blow this tiny boat way
to the Three Immortal Isles.

translator: I found this fine translation on an xerox, unattributed; I'm trying to track down the translator's name for attribution at the moment.

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