Autumn, cloud blades on the horizon. The west wind blows from ten thousand miles. Dawn, in the clear morning air, Farmers busy after long rain. The d… - Du Fu

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Autumn, cloud blades on the horizon.
The west wind blows from ten thousand miles.
Dawn, in the clear morning air,
Farmers busy after long rain.
The desert trees shed their few green leaves.
The mountain pears are tiny but ripe.
A Tartar flute plays by the city gate.
A single wild goose climbs into the void.

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About Du Fu

Du Fu (712 – 770) was a prominent Chinese poet of the . Along with Li Bai (Li Po), he is frequently called the greatest of the Chinese poets.

Also Known As

Alternative Names: Du gongbu Zimei Fu Du Tu Fu Dù Gōngbù Dù Shàolíng
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A visible darkness grows up mountain paths;
I lodge by the river gate high in a study,
Frail cloud on a cliff edge passing the night.
The lonely moon topples amid the waves;
Steady, one after another, a line of cranes in flight.
Howling over the kill, wild dogs and wolves.
No sleep for me. I worry over battles—
I have no strength to right the universe.

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