10 Chinese Poems You Must Know About Tea
Drinking tea is not only about quenching thirst; it is also a way to cultivate oneself. Quietly observing the tea leaves, as they tumble and settle in the clear tea cup, the water transitions from strong to weak, and the once fragrant brew becomes tasteless. This process mirrors the journey of the heart, from desires to contentment. Tea lovers often enjoy reading books as well. It has been said that drinking tea and reading books are the most beautiful pleasures in life. We have carefully selected ten ancient poems that depict the essence of tea to share with you.
1.山泉煎茶有怀 by 白居易，唐朝
坐酌泠泠水，看煎瑟瑟尘。
无由持一碗，寄与爱茶人。
Melodies of Mountain Spring Tea by Bai Juyi, Tang Dynasty
Sitting, I enjoy the cool spring water, watching the tea leaves dancing in the kettle.
Without a reason to hold a cup, I entrust it to the tea lover.
2.残年书事 by 魏时敏, 明朝
林泉深处足烟霞，流水寒云八九家。
江客帆樯悬网罟，野人篱落带桑麻。
案头墨迹儿临帖，灯下车声妇络纱。
待到春风二三月，石垆敲火试新茶。
Chronicles of the Remaining Years by Wei Shimin, Ming Dynasty
Deep in the woods, amidst the mist and rosy clouds, flowing water connects eight or nine homes.
River travelers hoist their sails, casting nets; rustic folks tend to their mulberry fields and hedges.
Ink stains on the desk, calligraphy near the lamp, the sound of wheels and women weaving beneath its light.
Awaiting the arrival of spring winds in the second or third month, I strike the stone hearth to taste the new tea.
3.汲江煎茶 by 苏轼, 宋朝
活水还须活火烹，自临钓石取深清。
大瓢贮月归春瓮，小杓分江入夜瓶。
雪乳已翻煎处脚，松风忽作泻时声。
枯肠未晚禁三碗，生听荒城长短更。
Brewing Tea from the Ji River by Su Shi, Song Dynasty
To brew tea, one must use lively water and a live fire, drawing from the deep, clear depths by the fishing rock.
A large ladle stores moonlight, poured into a spring jar; a small scoop brings the river into the night bottle.
As the frothy tea simmers, it stirs my spirit; the sound of the pine breeze suddenly becomes a cascading stream.
It’s not too late for three more cups, as I listen to the tales of the desolate city, long or short.
4.夏昼偶作by 柳宗元, 唐朝
南州溽暑醉如酒，隐几熟眠开北牖。
日午独觉无余声，山童隔竹敲茶臼。
Summer Noon Musings by Liu Zongyuan, Tang Dynasty
In the sultry heat of the southern region, intoxicated like wine, I nap on the mat, opening the northern window.
At noon, I alone perceive the absence of any lingering sound; a mountain child, separated by bamboo, pounds the tea mill.
5.九日与陆处士羽饮茶 by 皎然, 唐朝
九日山僧院，东篱菊也黄。
俗人多泛酒，谁解助茶香。
Drinking Tea with Master Lu on the Ninth Day by Jiaoran, Tang Dynasty
In the mountain monastery on the ninth day, the chrysanthemums bloom yellow by the eastern fence.
Common people prefer indulging in wine, who can appreciate the assistance of tea’s fragrance?
6.尝茶 by 刘禹锡, 唐朝
生拍芳丛鹰觜芽，老郎封寄谪仙家。
今宵更有湘江月，照出菲菲满碗花。
Tasting Tea by Liu Yuxi, Tang Dynasty
Freshly plucked, the tea leaves resemble falcon beaks; the old man’s gift arrives at the immortal’s abode.
Tonight, the moon over the Xiang River is even more enchanting, illuminating the brimming floral bowl.
7.茶诗 by 郑愚, 唐朝
嫩芽香且灵，吾谓草中英。
夜臼和烟捣，寒炉对雪烹。
惟忧碧粉散，尝见绿花生。
Tea Poem by Zheng Yu, Tang Dynasty
Fragrant and ethereal, the tender buds are the heroes in the world of grass.
Nighttime grinding in the mortar, brewing over a cold stove, facing the snow.
Only concerned about the scattering of green powder, occasionally witnessing the birth of green flowers.
8.即目 by 李商隐, 唐朝
小鼎煎茶面曲池，白须道士竹间棋。
何人书破蒲葵扇，记著南塘移树时。
In the Eyes by Li Shangyin, Tang Dynasty
A small kettle brews tea, facing the curved pond; a white-bearded Taoist plays chess among the bamboo.
Whose hand inscribed the folding fan made of pampas grass, recording the moment the southern pond was moved?
9.煮茶 by 皮日休, 唐朝
时看蟹目溅，乍见鱼鳞起。
声疑松带雨，饽恐生烟翠。
Boiling Tea by Pi Rixiu, Tang Dynasty
At times, it splashes like the eyes of a crab; suddenly, fish scales rise.
Its sound resembles rain on pine trees, fearing that it will produce emerald smoke.
10.减字木兰花 by 辛弃疾, 宋朝
僧窗夜雨。茶鼎熏炉宜小住。
却恨春风。勾引诗来恼杀翁。
狂歌未可。且把一尊料理我。
我到亡何。却听侬家陌上歌。
Magnolia Blossoms by Xin Qiji, Song Dynasty
Through the monk’s window, night rain falls; the tea tripod and incense burner should be left to simmer.
But I resent the spring breeze, enticing me to write and vexing the old man.
The wild songs are not yet suitable; for now, let’s savor a cup together.
Where will I be in the end? But I hear your family singing on the village lane.
