I recall the days when I was just in my prime,
Wielding my brush in the Jade Capital, sublime.
I thought myself somewhat extraordinary then,
Laughing and chatting with lords and gentlemen.
The toad-shaped inkstone held drops for my writing,
My colorful brush lay across the desk, inviting.
I set aside the lute, pushed it to play alone,
Laughing at later tunes, the Shang notes overblown.
Plucking the rare orchid, I found a lonely grace,
Washing the cocoon, I drew out silken lace.
Often I rode the tail of the Winnowing Star,
Looking down on scholars from afar.
Who dares to judge the broken classics with care?
A forest of guards, a thousand soldiers there.
White robes shone in the springtime of my youth,
Green temples tossed with tassels, a splendid truth.
Like the Infantry Captain, I drove alone,
Like Mi Heng, I had a fame that was overblown.
I poured my heart out in the Purple Fungus Hall,
Pointing to the day I'd reach the Western Pure, standing tall.
Short wings cannot soar far in flight,
So I turned to blend with the common, day and night.
Seven years passed before I gained a degree,
Shedding my commoner status, finally free.
Official documents barely held my sway,
In short coarse clothes, I warned myself not to stray.
In October, at Yanglan's shore,
A thousand li to Hailing's city door.
Wind and waves pressed close upon my heart,
Seasons and things made my hair stand apart.
Like Maoling, I thirsted with a parched lung,
In Linzi, little desire for office clung.
Held back by the elbow, what good did it bring?
Following others, I achieved little, a small thing.
Like the grain moth, a pest,
Gnawing rice to fill its nest.
The alchemy classics, empty words they seem,
To become immortal, my bones lack the dream.
In declining years, my bold plans weigh,
The bright sun blocks my sincere display.
Deng Yu would laugh at me, I fear,
These words of his are not fair, not clear.