I wrote a poem on the white rabbit yesterday,
Laughing at Chang'e for her foolish way.
It was the night of the fifteenth, tenth moon,
When the moon rose, an icy orb, o'er the eastern fence soon.
The star Bi beside her like a net was spread,
So I thought the rabbit's escape was surely ahead.
Unexpectedly, Chang'e perceived my jest with ire,
Commanding magpies round the branches to conspire.
Their chattering words none could decipher or tell,
They fluttered to my bed, drawing the cold curtain as well.
Then she shot her clear light straight into my core,
I felt but shivers crawling on my skin, parched and sore.
Then dreamed a maiden descended from the sky,
With five-hued clouds embracing her dignified guise.
Her bones and flesh fair as carved jade, slender and bright,
Her voice soft, her brows raised, a gentle, radiant light.
She reasoned with me, and I listened to her plea,
Why deem the jade rabbit common and lowly?
All beasts may chance to have a coat of white,
But divine aura—this alone sets the rabbit in lofty light.
A certain Pei Sheng once wrote verses of this kind,
Whose sole intent was blame, with peace not in mind.
She said, "Pei Sheng was but a youth, in truth,
Who teased with tender words in his cups, forsooth.
Your body is stubborn as a piece of iron,
How dare you recklessly call this wondrous and dire?"
Even the Hanlin master cares not for your claim,
Do you still cherish your fame, knowing your shame?
I kowtowed twice in thanks—she had gone away,
Rose to see the moon slanting southwest, ending the day.