Classic Poem

Night: reading Meng Chiao's poems,
Characters fine as cow's hair.
By the cold lamp, my eyes blur and swim.
Good passages I rarely find —
Lone flowers poking up from the mud —
But more hard words than the Odes or " Li sao " .
Jumbled rocks clogging the clear stream,
Making rapids too swift for poling.
My first impression is of eating little fishes —
What you get's not worth the trouble;
Or of boiling tiny mud crabs
And ending up with some empty claws.
For refinement he might compete with monks
But he'd never match his master Han Yü.
Man's life is like morning dew,
A flame eating up the oil night by night.
Why should I strain my ears
Listening to the squeaks of this cold cicada?
Better lay aside the book
And drink my cup of jade-white wine.