Life's wealth and honor bring much splendor, every birthday spreads silk and brocade.
The high hall's guests throng in red and purple, golden cups pour joy, spilling flowing rosy clouds.
Youth not yet evening, like immortals drunk, dancing waist swirls snow, white teeth sing.
Rare are joyous times bought with laughter, a thousand gold not spared, like mud and sand.
How far apart from poor families! I sigh my lane lacks tinkling jade.
Usually I savor the taste of humble alleys, days of sipping beans and drinking water are many.
Unaware today is my birthday, the east neighbor quickly asks if wine can be bought on credit.
Cooking fresh delicacies, striking fat meat—not that I don't wish, but with an empty house, how can I?
Father calmly calls his son, says: I have the greatest joy, not from others.
Establishing oneself enough to honor parents, fame need not reach the highest exams.
If your demeanor can bring parental joy, pleasing the mouth doesn't require fine flavors.
Though the full hall lacks gold and jade wealth, the Six Classics and various masters luckily fill the home.
Daily leading the children in diligent study, conduct admiring Yan and Min, heart like Kong and Ke.
If only the household has no outside troubles, the bamboo grove is enough for long, leisurely swaying.
Sons obedient, parents kind, there is surplus joy; naturally, fortune comes from family harmony.
The evening chrysanthemums by the fence know human intent, year after year they offer their golden flowers.