What classic poems are there related to orchids?

Orchid, Qing Dynasty, Liu Hao

Weeping dew, its light is all astray; holding the wind, its shadow leans of itself. How could vulgar folk understand this: looking at the leaves surpasses looking at the flowers.

Ode to the Orchid, Yuan Dynasty, Yu Tonglu

By hand I planted two or three orchid stems; with warm sun and gentle wind came the season in turn. Sitting long, I forget the fragrance is in the room; pushing the window open, now and then a butterfly flies in.

Inscription on a Painting: Orchid, Qing Dynasty, Zheng Xie

Its body is atop the thousand-mountain peak, in the deep clefts of jagged rock its wondrous fragrance is thick. It is not that beneath its feet no floating clouds clamor; they come without knowing it, and leave without staying.

Huan Xi Sha: Orchid

As if in a bronze vase I see dew-sprouted shoots, sparse flowers cold and fallen, faintly holding charm. On the Xiang River clear tears drip into the spring tide; how could it have a heart to share such tender love?

And no leaf aids its graceful bearing; one heart-breaking collection is the Li Sao.

Ode to the Orchid, Zhu De

In Yuexiu Park's grove of flowers and trees, a hundred flowers bloom together, each vying for spring. Only the orchid's fragrance is just right, for a time prized throughout the city of the Five Rams.

Poem in Praise of the Orchid, Zhang Xueliang

Its fair name is known throughout the four seas, it has taken root in ten thousand homes. Its leaves stand upright holding righteous spirit, its flowers bloom refined, not a showy blossom.

Evergreen, it defies severe cold, smiling through the height of summer. A true gentleman among flowers, its graceful bearing entrusts elegance.

The Hidden Orchid, Tang Dynasty, Cui Tu

Planted in seclusion, who among the crowd would know? Its fragrance it holds only in secret. Since no gentleman wears it, it is not that its national fragrance has faded.

White dew moistens it early and long, the spring wind always arrives late. It is not like the grass by the road; its rich fragrance, what is it for!

Orchid, Ming Dynasty, Chen Ruyan

The orchid grows deep in the mountains, giving forth rich and hidden fragrance. By chance admired by the world, it is moved and placed in a high hall.

Rain and dew lose their season, its roots and stems leave their native land. Though it receives the power of care, being nurtured is not its proper way.

In winter cold the frost and snow fall; its green leaves fear being withered and harmed. How much better in the forested ravines, where in season it still gives fragrance of itself.

Four Quatrains on the Twin-Hearted Orchid, Qing Dynasty, Qian Qianyi

Just finished her new adornment when she gathered orchids, and suddenly saw a twin-hearted one put forth a branch. Cherish the Heavenly Lord's intent in cutting and shaping; adorned and bowing, joy fills her brows.

Orchid, Qing Dynasty, Qiu Jin

Planted in nine plots together, its quality alone is finest; most fit to be a pin to adorn a beauty's head. Once the Master looked upon it from his carriage, it is ashamed to rank with common flowers vying in splendor.

Yu Zi Lan, Qing Dynasty, Nalan Xingde

In the Shi family's Golden Valley, three hu were paid for a famed concubine. Its green is tender as fine jade, its roundness should be hard to move as nanmu.

If orchid fragrance fills the body, in summer heat the grains of life arise. Its body falls toward the tower front, leaving fragrance and tears filling the branches.

Feng Qi Wu: Lan Stream, Song Dynasty, Cao Guan

The cassia oars move slowly, steady across the waves. Mist veils the layered peaks, green waters join the sky far off. Winning a brocade bag full of poetic fame. Reviving the trade, drinking boldly, waving golden cups.

Flying catkins tease people, flowers dazzle the eyes. The sky is broad, the wind slight, beyond the swallows the clear gossamer curls. Green bamboo, whose home's gate can be knocked? Mooring the boat, idly ascending the slope in the setting sun.

Dian Jiang Chun: Orchid, Song Dynasty, Yao Shuyao

Free and easy in the cold forest, jade clumps reflect afar beneath the pines and bamboos. A phoenix hairpin leans aslant. Smiling proudly in the east wind.

A kind of hidden fragrance, of itself it holds the intent of early spring. The fragrant wind is fine. The people of the state vie to flatter it, not counting the peach and plum.

Zui Hua Yue, Song Dynasty, Yao Shuyao

Light red vines trail, how many threads, cut to show orchid leaves' skill. People return in the moonlight, leaving behind star-bright hairpins, plucking apart tiny true pearls.

Huan Xi Sha: Orchid and Thoroughwort, Song Dynasty, Zhong Shu

The wanderer of Chu spreads its talent abroad. In deep forest it fixes its mind, not forgetting one another. The dream becomes the state of Yan, just then fragrant.

Do not idly debate and compare its grade and name; just watch the blue phoenix's feathers grow. Fully receive the fragrance before your eyes.

Qing Ping Yue: Spring Orchid, Song Dynasty, Mao Pang

In the winding chamber with green latticed windows, a light smile parts the cherry lips. Waking from sleep, three poles of red sun have passed, the agarwood incense cold, the remnant fire out. The east wind favors her house alone, leaving only that to rival my splendor; who sends a bosomful of spring longing, as on the jade terrace swallows brush the water-chestnut flowers.

Dian Jiang Chun, Song Dynasty, Ye Mengde

(Going out late to the mountain pavilion, in early spring I planted orchids beside the pavilion, and recently twelve stalks of purple ganoderma have grown again)

Tall willows rustle; waking from sleep I already feel the west wind's force. By the small window all is still. A patter gives rise to autumn listening.

Why so full of feeling, wishing to race with the passing years. Remnant clouds darken. My fallen cap I lazily adjust. I stand alone on the orchid and thoroughwort path.

Blooming alone in fragrance, to whom can this grief be told.

As if speaking with the plum blossom, there are still companions seeking fragrance. When you deliberately try to smell it, it will not give fragrance; its fragrance lies where the heart is not set.

Shuang Cui Yu, Song Dynasty, Zhao Ding

(Written while drinking at the South Garden on the night of the thirteenth of the third month; formerly titled Nian Nu Jiao)

In the small garden's winding path, passing deep into the sparse woods, the hidden orchid gives faint fragrance. A bamboo bird, no one there, a pair of emerald feathers, flies and strikes the chill jade with a tinkle. I wish to inscribe a poem, but in the evening my solitary mood arises, and I fear it would wound my hidden solitude. Better beneath the flowers to pledge a cup of fragrant wine.

Sighing as I recall the elegance of the old country, willow catkins and spring dreams are short, the millet has just ripened. Rolling up a thousand cups of white wine, you must urge me on, to wash away the honor and disgrace in my breast. Drunk, I salute the Southern Mountain with a clear whistle, and cease reading the Li Sao. Lingering before returning, the bright moon still hangs on the tall tree.

Huan Xi Sha: Seeing Orchids in the Baolin Mountains, Song Dynasty, Xiang Ziyin

Among green jade clumps, purple jade stalks, hidden flowers sparse in the heat yet richer in fragrance. It will not stain its lofty standard with rouge and powder.

The fair one of the empty valley is fit to be a companion; noble wandering youths cannot summon her. Facing the small window, we recite the Li Sao together.

Dian Jiang Chun: National Fragrance Orchid, Song Dynasty, Wang Shipeng

The fragrant friend lingers fondly, striking roots far out toward the deep forest. The national fragrance is borne on the wind, and only then is it seen to differ from the mugwort.

With elegant conduct and hidden grace, it fears not that no one gathers it. It is fit to be sewn and worn. Lingjun for a thousand years, the lingering fragrance of the nine plots remains.

Huan Xi Sha, Song Dynasty, Cheng Gai

(While ill, someone offered orchids to me; written in jest)

The heavenly maiden is earnest and full of intent. Scattering flowers, she still remembers the sick Vimalakirti. Would she come to the ten-foot room to ask how it is?

Plucking it to wear at the waist troubles the jade-white fingers; where the hair's fragrance is divided, I think of autumn waves. I wonder if she truly has feeling.

Dian Jiang Chun, Song Dynasty, Wang Xin

The morning horn sounds in the frosty sky, yet the day curtain is spring weather. Where I walk in the small garden, a pair of butterflies follows along.

Just now by the plum, then peering by the peach. Diligently, seeking orchids and thoroughworts. Who can understand the hidden one's mind.

Man Jiang Hong: Matching the Rhyme of My Cousin Xishu's Ode to the Orchid, Song Dynasty, Wei Liaoweng

With jade substance and golden form, it long keeps to the quiet court and dark room. Facing the cold moon of dusk, dimmed by mist and dew. Those who know me are few, and I am ever prized; toward others it does not press, yet others press toward it. Let them chatter, idly blaming Lingjun for the planting of orchids.

The cuckoo cries in confusion, spring's fragrance is still. The katydid calls, the pond's blossoms are plucked. Only the national fragrance endures long, sharing virtue with the plain autumn. Since in stillness one observes one's nature and lot, one especially knows the living color where it issues forth. Wait until the end, when both sound and scent are no more, then is true perception.

Ye Jin Men: Late Autumn, Written for the Thoroughwort Flower, Song Dynasty, Huang Ji

Autumn draws toward evening; in late autumn the thoroughwort roots are still warm. Blue dyes the silk skirt, the Xiang waters shallow, shy red faintly reaches the cheeks.

Rustling, the embroidered curtain wraps all around; the moon is thin, the frost bright in the courtyard. Adornment done, the jeweled mirror case is left lazily unclosed; without wind the fragrance fills of itself.

He Xin Lang, Song Dynasty, Zhao Yifu

(Below the Zhishan Hall, an orchid opened twin flowers, the petals circling outside, two hearts joined within, possessing the meaning of fellowship. Auspicious lotuses and fine grain have been much praised; this is a unique sight, so a short lyric records it.)

Grass before the court is green. Closing the layered gates, the national fragrance accompanies me, the painted curtain in hidden solitude. Helplessly the warm wind blows the green silk, idly I play the old tune of the Li Sao. I feel at my nostrils a faint smell of clear fragrance. Could it be the flower god dislikes coldness and indifference, and in the green clumps, bright and luminous, pairs two jades side by side? Facing each other long, each is full of joy. 

Its icy grace dew-laden, as if newly bathed. I think of those years, the two brothers Yi and Qi, alone pure like the lone bamboo. Through the ages heroes are all dust, only the stern Western Mountain's clouds and trees remain. All is given over to a single cup of fine wine. Learning to be the pampered sisters of the Han palace, they receive favor and are stored in a golden house. Yet in the end it is not like being in the empty valley. 

Again

(Last night the moonlight was lovely, orchid fragrance filled the room, so I use the former tune again.)

Crushing through the vast expanse of green. See the silver toad, one round like water, shining on the solitary one. Vague, the wind shakes the jade pendants to pieces, as if it were the wondrous music of Ying and Jing. Suddenly it scatters into heavenly flowers rich in fragrance. The emperor's daughters come in pairs to the cave doors, bright of skin, ice and snow, faces like jade. Sorrow ages one easily, the heart is hard to satisfy. 

The Chu River, ten thousand qing, bathes sparsely. I think of the fair one, still hand in hand, with blue clouds and tall bamboo. Lush and exquisite in a space of a few inches, clearer than a thousand layers of summer trees. Hasten to me, let us pour the Xiang wine together. Recalling the events of the Lanting of that day, all desolate, yet still better than Lu Tong's hut. One should not arrive at envying the Golden Valley. 

Hui Lan Fang Yin: Inscribing a Painting of Orchids by the Prince of Wu Commandery, Kept by a Certain Family, Song Dynasty, Wu Wenying

Empty emerald dyes the clouds, the Chu mountains distant, old friends north and south. Its graceful bone is cold and full, purely washing the ninth-autumn ravine's green. In the old garden of the imperial carriage, I think it was never allowed to be lightly redeemed for a thousand gold. With a light smile it still says nothing, a single length of vine-grass silk skirt.

The plain maiden is full of feeling, A-zhen is deeply charming, waking the empty valley. Playing with wild color and misty grace, fit to sweep away sorrowful moth-brows in pale ink. Bright wind enters the door, its charming fragrance topples a state. The Xiang pendant is cold, a hidden dream, the small window full of spring.

Huan Xi Sha: Orchid, Song Dynasty, Yang Zemin

Cultivated along one path, nine plots are made; growing in clumps in the hidden valley, it avoids being tilted and toppled. Such rare fragrance belongs only in the forest pavilion.

Its rich national fragrance is hard to compare; the tangled vulgar eye need not be startled. A good wind blows, and the rain has just cleared.

Guo Xiang: Ode to the Orchid, Song Dynasty, Zhang Yan

A hidden one of the empty valley, trailing icy hairpins and misty girdles, ancient color giving rise to spring. Its roots are not the same as mugwort; alone it embraces solitary chastity. It accepts its lot of a thin and humble life, hiding among the wild grass, content to grow old in the forest. With wind and mist it accompanies its gauntness, cold and desolate in the Wu palace, grass dark, flowers deep.

The traces of clearing mist dissolve the thoroughwort; seeking toward the cliff's shade to drink the dew, it must be a kindred heart. Where is the one it longs for? Sorrow fills the Chu waters and Xiang clouds. Who would believe its lingering fragrance lasts a thousand years, still lingering fondly, chanting as it walks by the marsh. Its fragrant traces have become a dream; who plays the short piece, the moon cold on the jade zither.

Qing Ping Yue: Inscribing an Orchid Painting by Old Man Suonan Kept by the Wai Mei Family, Song Dynasty, Zhang Yan

Black clouds rise flying, the night moon weeps for the ghosts of Xiang; the soul returns to its spirit-root, no second paper; for a thousand years it does not follow the flowing waters.

Its fragrant heart lightly dyed with pure luster, it seems a flower yet seems not a flower; it would keep company with the idle plum, in the home beneath Solitary Mountain.