Vice Minister Yi Misu (李眉叟) Answered His Son Gyun's (囷) Poem "A Winter Day" and Bade My Son Ham (涵) Answer It Too; So I Matched the Rhymes and Respectfully Sent This李侍郞眉叟和郞子囷冬日詩。命愚息涵和之。又使涵邀予同賦。故次韻奉寄。
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) 東國李相國集 · Yi Gyubo · Compiled 1241 (Goryeo, 28th year of King Gojong); revised and enlarged 1251 · 1 passages · 95 Chinese characters · reading time 1 min
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) Former Collection, Book 14 The collected writings of Yi Gyubo of Goryeo, gathered and cut in woodblock by his son Yi Ham in 1241 and revised and enlarged by his grandson Yi Ikbae in 1251. It holds poems and rhapsodies, memorials and reports sent up to the king, records written for temples and pagodas, stele and tomb inscriptions, letters and prefaces, and the state letters that passed to and from the Mongols during the invasions. The Lay of King Dongmyeong, which sings the founder of Goguryeo, stands in volume 3 of the first collection, and the daily life of a man who called himself the White Cloud Layman — with his wine, his zither and his verse — fills the later collection. The book closes with the last poem he wrote as his eyes failed and he laid down the brush, and with the dirge and tomb inscription others made for him after his death.
Have you not seen the rich and noble red apricot and red peach blossoms of the spring garden?
What is to be done about heaven's craft wasting its shears?
If the flowering season is like this, one ought to chant as though gone mad,
and even a coarse talent such as mine would still tip over the waves of the river.
In the harsh winter, in the last month, what is there to admire?
The north wind howls in the trees and raises an idle uproar.
The old clerk of the Side Wall (掖垣) draws himself in like a frozen turtle,
and blowing on his hands he drafts the edicts, and still calls it toil.
You, my lord, at such a time spread out fair writing,
and the spring flowers all become a spirit that pierces the sky, and so are bold instead.
What I envy still more is that your son is not to be compared with ordinary children,
for under his brush the measure of his new poems is very high.