Tired of the clamor in the crowd, I sit alone, lamenting solitude.
Between action and stillness, what is the heart? Seeking the source, awaiting enlightenment.
The Zhang brothers, fine companions, agreed to join this outing.
With the guest from Linqiong, graceful as from a lotus-curtained hall.
Two talents, splendid as golden branches, gathered in feasts of toasts.
Startled from drunken dreams by visitors, I rushed out, shoes awry.
Master Fu, behind his curtain, teaches sons the family's learning.
Master Tang, brush in hand, crafts verses with carved elegance.
Each behind closed doors finds his peace, till a knock echoes sudden.
Elder Qian, a venerable man, met by chance, we left the town.
Gale winds lift our carriage cover, dew dampens our straw sandals.
Monks greet us outside the gate, serene as cranes from the woods.
Entering the hall, respect arises—for past sages' transcendent deeds.
The state survives to this day, thanks to their loyal devotion.
In dim lamplight of the meditation room, portraits fade, colors flake.
Only we, our kind, remember fragments of those bygone tales.
Reflecting a hundred years hence, wise and foolish share one mound.
Wind-stove urges tea brewing, washing away chest's heavy cares.
Opening the window, a gaze—grand views seize cliffs and valleys.
Ancient trees twist like dragons; vines clamor with birds and sparrows.
Bamboos before the steps stand tall, like spears arrayed left and right.
Old trunks almost scrape the sky; young shoots still wear their sheaths.
A breeze through sparse lattice—a thousand holes sing like pipes.
Suddenly come songs and shouts, caps and sashes, broad and grand.
Are you Chen Menggong? All seats startle in surprise.
Who knows fortune or doom? Characters and strokes vainly parsed.
Clumsy at times in jest, stroking beards for a hearty laugh.
If the monk so intends, he sighs—how things differ from yesterday.
Immortals crowd around the spirit lord; last night's dream not obscure.
Human feelings easily stirred; will and spirit drift with the wind.
How could Song Yu's rhapsody waste chewing at the butcher's door?
Morning clouds lack fixed form; secret thoughts hard to entrust.
Cast aside, speak no more—sights and sounds are foul and vile.
Passing the cup with pot and arrow, recalling ancient music's joy.
Chess on an empty board; daylight suddenly brings hailstones.
Momentum builds like Qin's rise; plans err as Lu's power wanes.
Generals treat it as child's play, circling, guarding palace keys.
Chariots and horses may bring trouble; captives reach the tent's drapes.
Clenched fists match odd and even; arms strive to seize and wrestle.
Fine names inherit a hundred sons; riddles mimic Master Fangshuo.
Fate exhausted, one may stumble—worldly affairs truly hard to gauge.
Nature grows vast and boundless; profound truths grind and polish.
Longevity gauged by Peng and殇; size measured by roc and sparrow.
How high hangs the sky? Where does the thick earth rest?
Who rages with thunder? Who smiles with lightning's flash?
Rising kings mourn the lonely; decadent ages suffer cruel tortures.
When the Way thrives, how fortunate; when it falls, how meager.
In life, who grants you grace? In death, who brings you torment?
Fight for a hair's breadth—Sima shakes bells and drums.
Righteous vows never yield; brave men march into cauldrons.
Soon both forget words—water clear, hidden scales gleam.
Joy's journey has no end; dusk clouds stretch across the sun's foot.
Urged home by young servants, to leave, yet hesitate again.
Looking back, a sudden thought—gloom stifles mirth and jest.
Digging the well fulfills old will; stone-laid walls, chiseled firm.
Pavilion overlooks the broad road; beams and eaves extend wide.
North window gazes on clear streams; west room shines with flowers and herbs.
Ask what they do there—idle hands gambling with dice.
Rural women with thorn hairpins, in groups, dash brave and swift.
Asked but cannot answer—do they abandon plow and harvest?
As if saying years of bitter hunger, selling even tools and coins.
Thanks to the wise magistrate, compassionate, grieving people's woes.
Sincere piety pierces heaven and earth; one rain washes scorching heat.
Planting must be timely; delay dries ditches and streams.
Pollution tax, how much? Autumn sprouts leave mere spoonfuls.
Writs chase like sparks; clerks surpass venomous insects.
Some say auditing duties long neglected proper rules.
Tax collection harshly layered; suffering spreads among the poor.
Strong men's bellies empty; they strive to hoe and reap.
Old women barefoot go, dare they refuse whipping?
Return at dusk under stars; leave at dawn with rooster's crow.
Hurrying, sir, don't scoff—an inch's step spans a thousand miles.
I hear ancient wise kings prized farming, suppressed trade.
How could leaning at market gates bring wealth and crimson hues?
Yet these toiling farmers often suffer harsh exploitation.
The magistrate truly bright; honest advice hopes forthright speech.
Thinking this, long forgetting return; dew soaks sleeves and lapels.
Faint scent from Buddha hall; soft chimes stir eaves' bells.
Empty courtyard, twin candles bright; birds flip on treetops.
Pure delight boundless; rinse cups, pour again.
Last cups shun the inspector; fine gifts come with silk threads.
This joy indeed abundant; this gathering rare to count.
The assistant, immortal among men, spirit keen as autumn hawk.
Six years free from clerk's post; now aids the regional lord.
Soon awaits imperial decree; returning with purple lotus bag.
The worthy clerk of Puqi, young learning scorned Wei and Huo.
Lingering, wearing yellow绶; tempered a hundred times, edge sheathed.
Still can ride the saddle; cast brush by Qinghe and Luo.
Hanshan guards the frontier; bold ambition strides high.
Vowing to achieve great feats; glory shines on brothers.
Pure, these six gentlemen, hold Jing Mountain's uncut jade.
Some listed among worthy talents, soaring above clouds.
Some wander among nobles, strong brush drives dragons.
Some seek to lift family fame, dusty words束 high shelves.
Advance, uprooting together; court will favor with high posts.
Who would cling to hometown? Stuck in filth, content.
Only I defy the world, resigned as an inchworm.
Another time, a jug of wine; again keep the monk's promise.