In heaven stands an immortal capital built of white jade, with twelve towers and five cities. Immortals stroked my head, and in youth I already longed for eternal life. Later I strayed into the worldly pleasures of fame and achievement, studying deeply the successes and failures of order and disorder; many kings called sages through the ages left behind only names as insubstantial as drifting clouds. They treated the realm as a great gamble and never escaped warfare. I once tried to study the strategies of kingship and hegemony, hoping to attain distinction; but fate opposed my wishes, so I set these things aside and wandered the seas.

Learning swordsmanship now seems laughable to me; what, in the end, has writing accomplished? My swordsmanship cannot withstand ten thousand soldiers, yet my writings have, by good fortune, spread my name across the land. These meager skills are hardly worth mentioning; like Liang Hong, I leave the capital chanting my discontent. As I depart, my feelings surge, and tears wet my cap and sash. I admire your free, exceptional talent, standing high among so many gifted men. You hold a farewell feast to encourage me on my distant journey; carriages and horses gather like clouds and escort me as far as Piaoqi Pavilion. Before the bells, drums, and songs have exhausted our delight, the sun is already setting toward Kunming Lake.

I reached Youzhou in the tenth month and saw weapons massed as thickly as stars. The court had entrusted vast northern lands to a powerful general; his might could drive a hundred rivers and topple Mount Yanran. I knew the danger but could not speak openly, wishing only to retire to the immortal mountains at sea. I wanted to draw my bow against the baleful star, yet held the arrow without daring to release it. I wept on the Golden Terrace and called to King Zhao of Yan, who sought worthy men: today no one values the bones of a fine horse, and noble steeds leap in vain. Even if Yue Yi were reborn, he would be forced into exile in such times.

After years wasted in disappointment, I rode back to Guixiang and found you governing there, educating the people through rites and music, seated with dignity in your hall. The hundred-li district under your rule seemed restored to ancient simplicity, its people peaceful and content, as though living in the age of Fuxi. At Changle Lodge, music accompanied a banquet, with wine vessels arrayed; worthy scholars, gallant guests, and singing women sat interspersed in orderly rows by candlelight. Drunken dancing stirred the splendid mats, and clear singing circled the high beams. Our happy gathering had scarcely begun when your term ended and you had to return to Xianyang. Well-wishers crowded around, and farewell tents along the road stretched into the distance. After parting, we were a thousand li apart, each experiencing different turns of fortune and hardship.

After several turns of cold and heat, the realm suddenly plunged into chaos. Imperial troops fought the rebels, and dust and sand darkened heaven and earth; plants and trees were filled with murderous menace, and even the stars lost their light. White bones piled up like mountains—what crime had the common people committed? The passes guarded the capital, and the nation's fate rested with Geshu Han; despite the many long halberds and armored soldiers, the gates still opened to the savage enemy. Dukes and ministers were slaughtered like livestock, and loyal, upright men were harmed. Two emperors left the capital region, and Chang'an and Luoyang became ruins.

The prince was ordered to lead troops and commanded a powerful army in Chu, yet lacked the restraint of Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin. Though brave officers and soldiers served him, people no longer knew whom to follow, and rebellion surged like wind and rain. You alone held firm at Fangling, outstanding in loyalty and integrity. At that time I lived in seclusion on Incense Burner Peak at Mount Lu, drinking clear springs and feeding on clouds and sunset glow; the Nine Rivers wound before my door, and the Five Lakes seemed connected beneath my pillow. At midnight the navy arrived, filling Xunyang with banners. Burdened by an empty reputation, I was forced aboard a warship. The five hundred gold pieces bestowed on me seemed no more than drifting smoke; I declined office and reward, yet was instead sentenced to exile in Yelang.

The road to Yelang is long; traveling west makes one grow old. Though peace is gradually returning to the realm, I remain like frost-stricken grass. The sun and moon should shine impartially; how can I appeal to heaven? You, a wise prefect, show consideration for an old friend. I have been fortunate to be your honored guest and have climbed Yellow Crane Tower several times; facing Parrot Islet, I feel ashamed that I fall short of Mi Heng. Fanshan’s former air of dominance has faded, and heaven and earth are filled with desolate autumn. The river brings snowmelt from Mount Emei, and the waters of the Three Gorges surge past; countless boats sail from here toward Yangzhou. Gazing as far as I can, the broad river view briefly eases my sorrow.

The gauze windows of the high tower seem to open against the sky, and waterside trees grow thick and green as hair. Seeing the sun about to be caught in the mountains, we fear the feast will end too soon; while urging more wine, we rejoice to see the moon rise. Beautiful singing girls from Wu and Yue, their makeup radiant, climb the stairs and emerge smiling from the curtains. Before the guests, they dance lightly with lowered hands, their silk robes moving as though in a spring breeze. The guests kneel to request a brief rest, but the host’s enthusiasm is still unspent.

Reading your poem about Mount Jing, even Jiang Yan and Bao Zhao would be moved. It is like a lotus emerging from clear water, naturally fresh, needing no ornament. Your spirit often rises beyond worldly concerns, and you frequently invite me to join you. Warriors crowd before your residence, their halberds arrayed in imposing ranks; in the garden, tended bamboo and rocks surround a clear, deep stream that winds around them. We climb terraces and sit in waterside pavilions, where your conversation often reveals outstanding insight. A word is more precious than white jade; beside a promise, gold seems light. You say I have not failed your trust; may the messenger convey this sincere heart.

As though a magpie had flown down from the five-colored clouds of heaven, news of a pardon arrived, allowing me to turn back from the road of exile to Yelang. Warmth revives a frozen valley, and dead ashes begin to glow again. You will enter court to assume an important office, while I, like Jia Yi, remain cast aside. Even Jie's dog barked at Yao, and the Xiongnu once mocked the Han for appointing Tian Qianqiu; the world's censure does not prove a worthy person guilty. Again and again I sigh at midnight, often anxious for the country.

Banners line the space between two mountains, with the Yellow River flowing through the middle. The armies, like chickens tied together, hinder one another and cannot advance; they can only linger by the river, watering their horses. How can we obtain a divine archer like Hou Yi, who could shoot down Maotou, the star symbolizing the enemy threat, with one arrow and truly end the warfare?

Yelang: a Tang place name, referring in the poem to the destination of exile; Li Bai was pardoned on his way there. Jiangxia: the area of present-day Wuhan, Hubei. Wei Liangzai: an old friend of Li Bai, then serving as prefect of Jiangxia. The experiences recorded in the title should not be simplified to “written in Yelang.”

白玉京、十二楼五城: the White Jade Capital, twelve towers, and five cities, images of the Daoist immortal realm. 结发: the early years when one bound up one's hair on coming of age. 九十六圣君: an inherited traditional count of ancient sovereigns, rather than a historical list individually verified by this poem.

轩冕: the carriages and robes of high officials, standing for the splendor of an official career. 五噫: an allusion to Liang Hong’s “Song of Five Sighs” of the Eastern Han and his departure from the capital to withdraw from worldly affairs, expressing indignation. 祖帐、祖道: farewell banquets and ceremonies.

戈鋋 (chán): weapons. 长鲸: a great whale, used as a metaphor for a powerful calamity or an ambitious force. 蓬瀛: Penglai and Yingzhou, legendary mountains of immortals. 天狼、旄头: the stars Tianlang and Maotou, used in the poem as symbols of warfare and enemy threats.

黄金台、骏骨: the Golden Terrace and the bones of a fine horse, allusions to King Zhao of Yan’s search for worthy men. 騄耳: a legendary swift horse. 乐毅: a famed general of Yan who later fled after falling under suspicion. 贵乡: a Tang county in the area of present-day Daming, Hebei. 弦歌: governing a locality through rites and music. 羲皇: Fuxi.

九土、六合: the whole realm. 哥舒: Geshu Han, a Tang general whose command was connected with the loss of Tong Pass during the An Lushan–Shi Siming Rebellion. 醢、菹: minced meat paste and pickled vegetables; here metaphors for brutal slaughter. 二圣: Xuanzong and Suzong. 两京: Chang'an and Luoyang.

帝子: Li Lin, Prince of Yong. 桓文: Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin, ancient hegemons. 房陵: the area of present-day Fang County, Hubei. 香炉: Incense Burner Peak on Mount Lu. 浔阳: the area of present-day Jiujiang, Jiangxi. 旌旃: banners.

Lines such as “迫胁上楼船” (“Coerced aboard the towered warship”): The poet's account of his service on Prince Yong's staff carries a tone of self-defense; this wording should not be treated as an uncontested historical conclusion.

负霜草: grass damaged by frost, a metaphor for those who suffer. 良牧: a wise local governor. 祢处士: the recluse Mi Heng, renowned for his literary talent; Parrot Islet is associated with his “Rhapsody on the Parrot.” 樊山: Mount Fan, near present-day Ezhou, Hubei.

小垂手: an ancient dance movement. 江鲍: Jiang Yan and Bao Zhao, writers of the Southern Dynasties. “清水出芙蓉,” “a lotus emerging from clear water,” praises Wei Liangzai's poetry in this poem.

青鸟: the messenger bird of mythology. 凤池: the Phoenix Pool, referring figuratively to the central imperial government. 贾生: Jia Yi, invoked as an image of a talented person held back. 桀犬吠尧: “Jie’s dog barking at Yao,” a metaphor for each serving their own master, or for judgments that invert good and evil. 千秋: Tian Qianqiu, an official of the Han dynasty.

连鸡: an allusion to the ancient image of chickens tied together and thereby hindering one another, used here for armies failing to coordinate. 夷犹: to hesitate or linger. 羿: Yi, the legendary master archer.

Reading guide: This long poem in five-character lines combines recollection, a verse gift, self-defense, and concern for the times. After experiencing the An Lushan Rebellion, the Prince of Yong affair, and exile, Li Bai associated with Wei Liangzai during his return following a pardon, using this gift poem to look back on his political aspirations and life's reversals. Readers should distinguish accounts of the past, present-day feasting and excursions, and symbolic scenes drawn from allusions; the poet's account of himself is not an undisputed chronology.

The poem's rises and falls arise from the repeated pull between two desires: seeking immortality and serving the world. The opening seems already to transcend earthly life, but soon turns to the achievements of kings and hegemons, and to rulers seeking worthy men and finding them. The middle places personal frustration amid warfare and the common people's bones, so its grief and indignation extend beyond failure to obtain office.

Wei Liangzai runs through every section as the person to whom the poet can recount his past and from whom he can regain respect. Farewells, local governance, feasting and outings in Jiangxia, and judgments of poetry and prose give the friendship concrete substance. “清水出芙蓉” (a lotus emerges from clear water) occurs within this exchange between friends and should not be understood apart from its context.

A pardon and return bring a change of fortune, yet the ending does not rest in the joy of personal deliverance. Banners, the Yellow River, and a stalled army come back into view; the final question to a skilled archer returns the whole poem to the hope of quelling rebellion and bringing peace to the people. Numerous allusions connect the poet’s own circumstances with the ordeals of worthy men in antiquity.