What to do in this inn of mine?
Time sits and flies, a swift design.
To venture out, wind and rain bar the way;
To face a chat, no friend is here to stay.
Luckily, books arrive, a welcome sight,
With joyful words, I break the seal of light.
I brush away the spiders and bookworms' trace,
And bend my arm upon the desk with grace.
With dimming eyes, I read the tiny script,
Unnoticed, like mosquitoes, they slip.
Scrape soil to tell an ancient tripod's tale;
Sort threads to comb a tangled rope's travail.
When comprehension strikes, a gain I find,
My look assumes a pride of knowing kind.
The fragrance of Yun Xiang reached Han's hall;
Bamboo slips were unearthed from Wei's burial mound tall.
A sip of drink is enough to make me drunk,
Why boast of rivers like the Mian, sunk?
By the quiet window, I roll and spread the scroll;
On the weary couch, I lie and rise, soul whole.
Not to prepare for royal questioning,
Nor to seek an official summoning.
To aid the world, my childish thoughts I shear;
To make a living, vulgar skills disappear.
Only learning can amuse my aging heart,
A ladder to sages, a wise counterpart.
Enduring poverty shows steadfast might;
Inner reflection makes noble spirit bright.
The lad, unaware of my deep intent,
Invites me to climb the barren ridge, bent.
The river's waters surge vast and wide;
Chu's mountains rise layer upon layer side.
Thoughts of return suddenly stir and churn,
Heart and lungs feel sharp edges, twist and burn.
To go or stay, my fate is clearly cast,
The great way knows no hindrance, holding fast.
Once it breaks through the Milky Way's domain,
Who recognizes the Tianchi Peng's gain?
Again I take my books, a faithful friend,
Close the door, light the lone lamp, without end.