In youth I yearned for the sublime and far,
Reading books without seeking to parse.
My will was set on carefree roaming free,
Ashamed to trade my name for fame's false gloss.
I'd rather follow Zisang in his simple ways,
Than tread the narrow path of Boyi's pride.
Never did I fear the gourd's useless fate,
Much less would I mind the cunning world's snide.
Retreating from the times, no discontent I bore;
Mingling with customs, I earned but oddity.
If only my heart could rest in peace,
Why care if my steps seem bold or free?
The world's road is fraught with pits and snares,
Human dealings worse than scorpions' stings.
Lowering my face to greet and please is tiring,
Unintended slights turn into bitter things.
The iron-capped judge delights in picking faults,
The law's clerk joys in trapping with his net.
They scrub until old scars show clear,
Then paint with colors as they see fit.
Outspoken words, I fear, may wound;
Diligent duty, they say, must never slack.
Pointing out flaws where none exist,
Melting me down with bellows' attack.
The crowd frolics with shouts and calls,
Competing in tricks, ever more sly.
Pouncing on cracks with swift, sharp turns,
Seeking sure victory with a gleeful cry.
The emperor's grace at first was lenient,
A single fault still met with pardon mild.
Though granted mercy on three sides,
My six wings were clipped, my spirit defiled.
To live whole, I shame the weak elm's sap;
In the Way, I envy the deaf and mute.
A lost horse may not bring sorrow,
A shattered pot deserves no sigh, to boot.
The August Earth gives life to all things,
The Great Clod breathes a sigh profound.
In fullness there may come a loss,
What pillar stands that won't fall down?
Tread not upon the roadside reeds,
Nor cut the sweet pear tree's dear shade.
Still will I pick the radish leaves,
How could I discard rush and blade?
Should I set aside the royal music grand,
And first present the rustic drum instead?
I'm sated with pepper and orchid's scent,
Yet cherish even spoiled food, it's said.
Holding to a name, I guard my barren state;
Knowing fate, I cast aside all petty spite.
Wildly I tread the Great Way's path,
Yet yield, my throat choked, silenced tight.
Though waist-borne boat seems cautious move,
Blowing on pickles tires me out.
The past, in truth, cannot be chased;
What comes, I'll warn myself, no doubt.
My temple hair grows sparse and gray,
The years stretch far, a distant haze.
Foolish plans led to countless fails,
Late insight brings a cleansing spray.
Chapped hands still weave the hempen cloth,
Crippled, I guard my needle and herb.
Selling ferry rides, I learn to row;
Closing shop, I seek divination's verve.
Thinking all are deeds of worthy men,
I often hear the ancients' words.
I have fields by rivers and lakes,
Last year they turned to channels and furrows.
Returning home, is there no plan?
My legacy is not yet lost.
Gathering wild rice, I still catch fish;
Planting elms, I also grow shallots.
A small hut hidden by thatch and reed,
A large granary filled with finest grain.
Greeting guests with pot and wine in hand,
Borrowing to repay private debt's chain.
In summer, bathe in flowing spring;
In winter, bask beneath the eaves' warm sun.
Why toil at mastering the classics,
Vainly proud of mustard-seed renown?