A group of poems written by Xuanji, and by some other poets related to Xuanji, such as Wen Tingyun, Han Shan, and Wu Zetian. Needless to say, Judge Dee was also a poet, though inferior in their company. So his work is not included.

Xuanji’s Poems

Willow Trees by the River

Letter to Wen Tingyun on a Winter Night

To Zi’an, Looking out across Han River in Sorrow

To Wen Tingyun

Letter to Zi’an across Han River

To a Girl in the Neighborhood

Letter to a Friend: Thoughts in the Late Spring

The Flute Sobbing

The Fading Peony

Reply to Li Ying’s Letter about Angling

To Guoxiang

Farewell

Grateful Response to Court Secretary Li for His Sending over the Precious Mattress

To Li Ying on His Return from the Fishing Trip in the Summer

A Visit to the South-Overlooking Tower in Chongzhen, and to the Post of the Newly Successful Candidates in the Civil Service Examination

Boudoir Sorrow

Wen Tingyun’s Poems

The Islet Enclosed in White Duckweed

Lament of the Inlaid Lute

A Green-Shaded Window

Water-Hourglass

Thousands of Woes

Fragrance from the Jade Burner

Wu Zetian’s Poems

Red Promenade Skirt

The Robe to Dee Renjie with the Inscription

Han Shan’s Poem

The Stars Spreading Out

Willow Trees by the River

Yu Xuanji (844–871)

The verdant trees stretching long

along the desolate bank, a tower distantly

dissolving into the faint mist,

petals falling, falling over an angler,

with the reflection rippling

on the autumn water,

the old tree’s root turning

into a secluded fish-hiding spot,

and the twigs low-hanging,

tying a sampan –

I’m startled out of a dream:

the night of roaring wind and rain

is infused with my new worries.

This is the poem Xuanji wrote at her first meeting with Wen Tingyun, a poem that instantly made her famous in the circle. In classic Chinese poetry, willow is a constantly used image suggesting love, melancholy, languidness. More often than not, those poems present lovers parting with weeping willows in the background.

Letter to Wen Tingyun on a Winter Night

Yu Xuanji (844–871)

Thinking hard, I search for the lines

to recite under the lamplight,

too nervous to spend the sleepless,

long night under the chilly quilt,

with the leaves trembling, falling

in the courtyard, fearful

of the wind coming,

and the curtain flapping

forlornly under the moon sinking …

Busy or not, I am always aware

of the unquenchable yearning

deep inside me. My heart remains

unchanged through the ups and downs.

The parasol tree being no place

for perching, a lone bird circles

the woods at dusk, chirping,

and chirping in vain.