Classic Poem

I have never battled to buy a fine house,
I have never fought to own great lands
What I had to fight for, having got a place of my own,
Was to sit tight for more than ten years.
I turn and look at the houses of the Top Clans
Lined up in the heart of this great town—
White walls flanking red gates,
Splendidly staring across the wide streets
Where are the owners? All have gone away;
They were called to high posts and never came back
The lakes they dug only the fish enjoy;
The woods they planted belong only to the birds
Happier far the owner of a small garden;
Propped on his stick he idles here all day,
Now and again collecting a few friends,
And every night enjoying lute and wine.
Why should he pine for great terraces and lakes
When a little garden gives him all that he needs?