On the way to Baling

West from Lake Dongting is the Young Maid's Shrine,
Where painted eyebrows come to comfort the traveler.
This mountain district is deserted, and shops close early;
Watchtower lamps seem distant, as my boat moors late.
I don't understand the dialect and yearn for a translator;
Strange birds without names shame my skill as a poet.
Still it's wonderful how the boatmen understand my desires -
Each time I open the window, we face a branch full of flowers!

poem by Yuan Mei, translated by J.D. Schmidt
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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