On Poetry論詩
作詩尤所難。語意得雙美。含蓄意苟深。咀嚼味愈粹。意立語不圓。澁莫行其意。就中所可後。雕刻華艶耳。華艶豈必排。頗亦費精思。攬華遺其實。所以失詩旨。邇來作者輩。不思風雅義。外飾假丹靑。求中一時嗜。意本得於天。難可率爾致。自揣得之難。因之事綺靡。以此眩諸人。欲掩意所匱。此俗寖已成。斯文垂墮地。李杜不復生。誰與辨眞僞。我欲築頹基。無人助一簣。誦詩三百篇。何處補諷刺。自行亦云可。孤唱人必戱。
What is hardest in the making of poems is for the words and the meaning both to attain beauty. If the meaning held within is truly deep, the more it is chewed the purer the flavour; but if the meaning stands and the words are not smooth, they are rough, and the meaning cannot travel. Of these matters, the one to be put last is only the carving and the fine adorning. Why must fine adorning be rejected outright? It too takes no little spending of the spirit. But to grasp only the flower and throw away its fruit — that is how the true intent of poetry is lost. Those who compose nowadays do not think of the intent of the "Airs" (風) and the "Elegantiae" (雅), but dress the outside and borrow red and blue paint, seeking only to suit the taste of the moment. Meaning is from the first got from heaven, and is not a thing that can be accomplished all at once. Reckoning how hard it is for them to get it, they make prettiness and extravagance their whole business. With this they dazzle other men's eyes, hoping to cover up how their meaning falls short. This habit has gradually hardened, and the way of this writing is about to fall to the ground; and since Li Bai and Du Fu are not born again, with whom shall one tell the true from the false? I would build up the fallen foundation, but there is no one to help with a single basketful. Though one recite the three hundred pieces of the Book of Songs (詩), where would it add anything to satire? To go alone, one may say, is well enough, but if I sing solitary, others will surely laugh.