Classic Poem

1

In youth I had nothing
that matched the vulgar tone,
For my nature always
loved the hills and mountains
Inadvertently I fell
into the Dusty Net,
Once having gone
it was more than thirteen years.
The tame bird
longs for his old forest —
The fish in the house-pond
thinks of his ancient pool
I too will break the soil.
at the edge of the Southern moor,
I will guard simplicity
and return to my fields and garden
My land and house —
a little more than ten acres,
In the thatched cottage —
only eight or nine rooms.
Elms and willows
shade the back verandah,
Peach and plum trees
in rows before the hall
Hazy and dimly seen
a village in the distance,
Close in the foreground
the smoke of neighbors' houses.
A dog barks
amidst the deep lanes,
A cock is crowing
atop a mulberry tree
No dust and confusion
within my doors and courtyard;
In the empty rooms,
more than sufficient leisure
Too long I was held
within the barred cage
Now I am able
to return again to Nature

2

Here in the Country
I have little to do with people,
In my poor lane
no noise of wheel and harness
White sunlight
bathes the rustic gate,
The empty rooms
cut off dusty thoughts.
At times I find myself
again among my neighbors,
Parting the high grass
we walk about together
Meeting each other
we do not talk at random,
But only speak of how
the hemp and mulberry grow.
Hemp and mulberry
keep growing day by day
And every day I clear
the land a little more.
My constant fear
is of the frost and hail
Which could reduce my crops
to a mass of tangled grasses.

3

I planted beans beneath the southern hill,
While the grass is thick the bean shoots still are sparse
Rising at dawn I pull up weeds and tares,
Shouldering my hoe I carry home the moon.
The path is narrow, the grass and bushes high —
The evening dew has thoroughly drenched my clothes
That my clothes are wet I do not mind at all:
It only makes me wish not to avoid what comes.

4

Long I have loved to stroll among the hills and marshes,
And take my pleasure roaming the woods and fields.
Now I hold hands with a train of nieces and nephews,
Parting the hazel growth we tread the untilled wastes —
Wandering to and fro amid the hills and mounds
Everywhere around us are dwellings of ancient men
Here are vestiges of their wells and hear thstones,
There the rotted stumps of bamboo and mulberry groves.
I stop and ask a faggot-gatherer
" These men — what has become of them? "
The faggot-gatherer turns to me and says:
" Once they were dead that was the end of them. "
In the same world men lead different lives;
Some at the court, some in the marketplace
Indeed I know these are no empty words:
The life of man is like a shadow-play
Which must in the end return to nothingness.

5

In grief and disappointment I return with my staff alone,
Over the rugged path I thread its hazeled windings
A mountain stream runs clear and shallow,
Coming upon it I wade and wash my feet.
Arriving home I filter my newly heated wine
And killing chickens invite in all my neighbors
The sun goes down — it is dark within the hall,
And thornwood faggots take the place of candles
When such joys come the bitter night is short
And so it goes until the day dawns in the east.