I recall the dust of the capital we once trod,
When first we met before your humble gate.
Through sparse curtains autumn sunlight softly poured,
In your kitchen as a guest I shared your plate.
We talked of past and present, free and wide,
No barrier of thought was left inside.
Officials judge the pillars, straight and tall,
And cast aside the crooked, useless all.
I set off early, reins still in my hand,
We parted north of school, on learning's land.
In early winter by the sea I'd rest,
At night I'd sit and search the books possessed.
Then first I read your writings, clear and grand,
A master craftsman scorns the measuring wand.
The ways of Zhou and Kong now fade away,
Their classics hidden by the wall's decay.
Strange doctrines rise and wander far and near,
Robes and caps conceal a heart insincere.
Your talent truly towers, high and rare,
Your arguments sweep forth with fearless air.
Like rivers flowing vast and deep and strong,
To eastern seas where all their waters throng.
As if I climbed and gazed from highest height,
All things are clad in spring's abundant light.
Since Mencius and Han Yu, sparse and few,
Such noble writing rarely comes to view.
Alas, that I so late your work have found,
I ponder, turn it, cannot set it down.
Why keep such treasure locked within your wall,
Not aid the puzzled, heed their earnest call?
Tomorrow I'll cross the river, homeward bound,
My thoughts of you no effort can confound.
Like one who, drunk, in summer heat must go,
Each step I take, the stifling feelings grow.
Then southern winds blew soft and warm and clear,
Tree leaves shone thick with greenness of the year.
Dark clouds raced over stony streams that churn,
Against the current, up the slope we turn.
With joy I heard you came by official word,
To poor lanes where your carriage wheels were heard.
I drew my couch near, asked you to explain,
Your speech like purest music, free from stain.
Your conduct holds to depths, to loss averse,
Your insight sees how dragon fields disperse.
You point out flaws with care, with friendship true,
Your criticism sharp as needles through.
In shallow pools some settled sand may lie,
Yet pearls and jade may there be purified.
In shared concern we often knit the brow,
In meeting joy we share a laughing vow.
Just when fierce Zhu Rong held his scorching sway,
Your golden office had not found its way.
The high tower opened wide a distant view,
We oft climbed up, commanded carriage new.
Aloof from vulgar games, we took delight
In peaceful study, brush and silk so white.
Dew fell, yet we forgot our weariness,
And waited for the moon's late brightness.
You cherished Zhang and me with kind regard,
And drew us to your mat, our place assured.
The common crowd, perplexed, gave no reply,
They frowned and gathered, mocking with a sigh.
Benevolence and right seem ill-aligned,
The dull revere the wicked, deaf and blind.
Mist-grass turns sere and yellow, old and worn,
Crickets chirp constant, evening until morn.
A gentleman fears official decree,
He speaks but little, turns to duty's sea.
The merchant's song, the youth's farewell so sad,
Tears stained our garments, making memories clad.
Since hurried oars took you and sped away,
This depth of winter has held cruel sway.
What spirit blows the hidden bellows' breath,
That ten thousand holes roar loud as death?
From city heights I watch the river's might,
Monster and flood assist its furious flight.
The wise and good remain unharmed, I trust,
Yet anxious thoughts of you my mind encrust.
Your train of clerks shines bright, a numerous host,
But simple fare for you is all but lost.
Now comes your letter, measured foot by foot,
My doubts dissolve like ice that cannot root.
Orchid-scented streams bring kindness deep,
Bamboo and wutong peace and comfort keep.
Your many officers, in colorful array,
At office barracks each enjoy their play.
The documents you write on pages' back,
Are dense as woven thread, no detail slack.
You sent this scroll to comfort and to cheer,
My heart, an inch of joy, holds you so dear.
The wild shore turns to level greenness now,
On mume tree tips thick blossoms white endow.
Golden catkins draw the willow's sprout,
Sweet scents fill plain and marsh, spread all about.
I go outside, but find no place to go,
Return to lie where four pillars stand low.
I long to speak of learning, deep and true,
But human affairs bring grief anew.
My thoughts contained cannot find their release,
A hundred angers in my bosom cease.
I chant of your appearance, far and faint,
On tiptoe, yet the road holds no acquaint.
Ashamed of feelings soft as children know,
I twist and turn in sorrow's tender woe.
My thoughts are not for private gain or need,
When shall I find cloud-wings, on which to speed?
Odd and even turn like wheels that roll,
I hope at last to save the burning soul.