Long rain has drained the earth's vital breath,
And day by day the hundred herbs grow thick.
They burst forth, shading my garden with death,
A tangled mass no remedy can quick.
Thus common weeds, of base and worthless kind,
Dare to affront the orchid's grace refined.
The swan refuses here to alight or stay,
While leaping frogs, emboldened, croak in play.
Tall woods are bound in suffocating plight,
With creeping vines drooping from left and right.
The azure sky is hidden by the screen,
The bright sun's light is broken, dim, unseen.
Long cut off from the traces of mankind,
Dark creatures lurk and peer with evil mind.
When mid‑autumn moon arrived, the season's turn,
I took the sickle, clearing brush to burn.
I swung my axe and swept with forceful hand,
The brambles and the thickets could not stand.
I stooped and pitied ant‑hills in disarray,
Then sat and heard the insects' sounds convey.
The trees now stand in clear and shining hue,
The lovely chrysanthemum stems gleam with dew.
A cool wind from the west begins to blow,
And myriad leaves in dappled radiance glow.
The wall‑like barrier gone, the view is free,
The southern pavilion's painted beams I see.
I walk straight down the path, no more to stray,
No fear of lurking serpents bars the way.
This fine archery range now stands upright,
Where drinking games and shooting give delight.
Roaming, I lose the former foulness here,
My heart expands, refreshed with joy sincere.
As when the Han first fixed its rule anew,
Rites crumbled, lawless chaos grew and grew.
Shusun cut down the Qin's oppressive blight,
Set up the thatch, restored the ritual right.
The Son of Heaven's court, august and grand,
Once more displayed the ranks, a ordered band.
Positions strict, arrayed in solemn line,
Robes and caps varied, splendidly they shine.
My garden's tale is trivial, nothing great,
Yet rooting out the wrong obeys the same state.
I try to sing this poem, long and clear,
And tears of fervent feeling wet my beard.