Morning clouds bring rain through day, rare is the sunlight's gleam.
Looking around, heaven and earth bleak, all things in vast mist seem.
Long unread are books of divination, no time to reckon rain or shine.
Trying with human affairs to reason, I fear this is no good sign.
The sun is the sovereign's image, its light reaches the farthest land.
How can a single thing obscure it, as if it chose to hide its hand?
An enlightened ruler hears and judges, all matters to law and order given.
Rewards and punishments sure and certain, his mighty commands are not riven.
Between the Son of Heaven and response, how can darkness invade the light?
I suspect barbarian rebels rise, their power wildly taking flight.
The royal troops are but forty thousand, sacred banners point to the frontier.
Prefectures lack surplus soldiers, supplies need men, young and austere.
Fathers and sons cease harvest-gathering, wives and daughters rush to sew.
Old mothers weep, unable to bear it, foolish children also in woe.
Setting off, they painfully part, thinking they head to the land of death.
Small worries end in flight and hiding, great peril lies in loss of breath.
Shu folk are unused to such things, all who hear are struck with dread.
Thus the haze and fog are made, all day long they drift and spread.
A hair's tip and heaven with earth, since ancient times are not compared.
The Middle Kingdom and barbarian tribes, why measure who is impaired?
The strategy already ensures victory, what foe can match tiger and bear?
Heaven's might will sweep them clean, not leaving a trace to spare.
When will news of victory arrive? Joyful sounds will ring again.
The sky suddenly clears and brightens, the golden crow prepares to reign.
Climbing high, I'd sing of constant might, gaze fixed where the sun does rise.
This wish is far from being met, a hundred cares fill my traveling eyes.