Poems of Meng Jiao
Feelings Arising from Illness
I follow my urge to find a stream
And wash the vestiges of disease away --
Flowery expanse in the last light of sunset,
Wind blowing cool through the barley.
Old friends rise before my eyes.
The worlds ways pass away from thought.
At peace, relaxed, I think of Chu's retreat
And, by this quiet lake, despise their enemies.
In the end, my only friends are these blue hills.
I tie these words upon their green laurel branches.
To me, this poem of Meng Jiao is a completely natural description of the wanderings of his thought. In a sense, it is unselfed, as there is no self-pity or other selfish inwardness. His mind is turned outwards throughout the poem.