Further Readings

I Love This Land

Ai Qing

If I were a bird，

I would sing, too, thoughvoice hoarse：

This storm-beating land，

This ever-raging river, resentfulas we，

This ever-blowing angry wind，

And from forests appeared

This ever-warm and bright dawn...

Then, I am dead，

Even feather rotten on soi.l

Why do I often have tears inmy eyes？

Because I love this land so dearly...