While picking asters neath the Eastern fence, — Tao Yuanming

"His literary style is spare and limpid, with scarcely a surplus word. His sincerity is true and traditional, his verbalized inspirations supple and relaxed. When one reads his works, the fine character of the poet himself comes to mind. Ordinary men admire his unadorned directness. But such lines of his as "With happy face I pour the spring-brewed wine," and "The sun sets, no clouds are in the sky," are pure and refined in the beauty of their air. These are far from being merely the words of a farmer. He is the father of recluse poetry past and present."

"There were often times when we had no wine to drink, However, this morning we fill the empty beakers. Over the new spring wine midges hover— When will we ever taste its like again? Tables with funeral meats stand piled high before us, Old friends and relatives come and weep beside us. We try to speak but cannot utter words, We try to see but our eyes are dim. Once he used to sleep within the lofty hall, Now he will spend the night out on the lonely moor. Leaving the city gate we accompanied him thither But we were back again before midnight had come."

"In former days I wanted wine to drink; The wine this morning fills the cup in vain. I see the spring mead with its floating foam, And wonder when to taste of it again. The feast before me lavishly is spread, My relatives and friends beside me cry. I wish to speak but lips can shape no voice, I wish to see but light has left my eye. I slept of old within the lofty hall, Amidst wild weeds to rest I now descend. When once I pass beyond the city gate I shall return to darkness without end."

"My little children are playing at my side, Learning to talk, they babble unformed sounds. These things have made me happy again And I forget my lost cap of office. Distant, distant I gaze at the white clouds: With a deep yearning I think of the Sages of Antiquity."

"In addition to his importance as a literary model, Tao Chien is admired for his decision to remain true to himself rather than subordinate his feelings to the demands of conventional life-styles. The writers and intellectuals of his day were, broadly speaking, split into the opposing camps of conformist Confucians and antiauthoritarian Taoists, and when Tao Chien rejected the former it would have been normal for him to have gravitated to the vagabond life of the latter. He chose, however, to pilot his own idiosyncratic course between these polar opposites, and he suffered much personal hardship in so doing. Even more important than his position in literary history or his personal qualities, however, is the candid beauty of his poetry. The freshness of his images, his homespun but Heaven-aspiring morality, and his steadfast love of rural life shine through the deceptively humble words in which they are expressed, and as a consequence he has long been regarded one of Chinas most accomplished and accessible poets."

"白发被双鬓， 肌肤不复实/虽有五男儿, 总不好纸笔/阿舒已二八, 懒惰固无匹/阿宣行治学, 而不爱文术 /雍端年十三 , 不识六与七/通子垂九龄, 但觅梨与栗/天运够如此, 且进杯中物"