Classic Poems About Tea

There's something in the nature of tea that leads to deep reflection. As a result, countless creative works have been written about the drink. Delve into these selected poems about tea, from the ancient "Seven Bowls of Tea" poem, written all the way back somewhere between 790-835 CE by Lu Tong, to Thomas Hardy's "At Tea" poem from the 1800s.

Seven Bowls of Tea 
Lu Tong (790-835)

The first bowl moistens my lips and throat; 一碗喉吻潤，

The second bowl breaks my loneliness; 二碗破孤悶，

The third bowl searches my barren entrails but to find 三碗搜枯腸，

Therein some five thousand scrolls; 惟有文字五千卷，

The fourth bowl raises a slight perspiration 四碗發輕汗，

And all life's inequities pass out through my pores; 平生不平事盡向毛孔散，

The fifth bowl purifies my flesh and bones; 五碗肌骨清，

The sixth bowl calls me to the immortals. 六碗通仙靈，

The seventh bowl could not be drunk, 七碗吃不得也，

only the breath of the cool wind raises in my sleeves. 唯覺兩腋習習清風生。

Where is Penglai Island, Yuchuanzi wishes to ride on this sweet breeze and go back. 蓬萊山﹐在何處，玉川子乘此清風欲歸去。

Saw Lu Yu off to Pick Tea
Huang Fuzeng

Thousand mountains greeted my departing friend
When spring tea blossoming again
With in-depth knowledge in picking tea
Through morning mist or crimson evening clouds
His solitary journey is my envy
Rendezvous in a temple of a remote mountain
We enjoyed picnic by a clear pebble fountain
In this silent night
Lit up a candle light
I knocked a marble bell for chime
While deep in thought for old time



Tea
Carol Ann Duffy

I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.

Or when you’re away, or at work,
I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,
as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips.

I like the questions – sugar? – milk? –
and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet,
for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget.

Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon,
I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I say
but it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day,

as the women harvest the slopes
for the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi,
and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea.




At Tea
Thomas Hardy

The kettle descants in a cozy drone,
And the young wife looks in her husband's face,
And then at her guest's, and shows in her own
Her sense that she fills an envied place;
And the visiting lady is all abloom,
And says there was never so sweet a room.

And the happy young housewife does not know
That the woman beside her was first his choice,
Till the fates ordained it could not be so. . . .
Betraying nothing in look or voice
The guest sits smiling and sips her tea,
And he throws her a stray glance yearningly.