No one attacks it with a long lance,
No one plies a strong cross-bow.
Suckling its grandsons, rearing its cubs,
It trains them into savagery.
Its reared head becomes a wall
Its waving tail becomes a banner.
Even Huang from the Eastern Sea,
Dreaded to see it after dark,
A righteous tiger, met on the road,
Was quite enough to upset Niu Ai.
What good is it for that short sword
To hang on the wall, growling like thunder?
When from the foot of Tai mountain
Comes the sound of a woman weeping,
Government regulations forbid
Any official to dare to listen.

Butterflies Dancing

Willow catkins beat at the curtains,
Under sweltering spring clouds.
Screen of tortoise-shell
And dazzling clothes.

Butterflies from the eastern neighbour
Come fluttering to the west.
Today the young man has returned,
Riding his white steed.