A guest from the west arrives at dawn,
I ask why the old poet delays.
In the capital, carriages gleam in morning sun,
Why chase the clamor of wheels and hooves?
Your face is haggard, dimmed by dust,
Yet your words shine with rainbow light.
Empty guts sometimes cry like autumn worms,
Bitter tunes become the cicada's cold drone.
Clever words, but clumsy in life's affairs,
Ashamed of shortcuts, you walk not astray.
My salary now leaves me with surplus,
I think of you, toiling day and night on pickled greens.
I often wish to send rice by boat,
But the Bian River in June is dry, without mud.
So I know such things are hard to ensure,
Let alone an official path steep as a ladder to heaven.
The court delights in virtue, gathering many worthies,
The towers are filled with brilliant talents, adorned with rhino-hair pins.
The phoenix sings at sunrise, emerging for the times,
Would it begrudge a single branch for its perch?
Since ancient times, upright talents and wisdom,
Poverty or success is fated, reason cannot align them.
A hundred years pass in a fleeting instant,
Between heaven and earth, we are but vinegar flies.
What gain or loss therein is worth counting,
Much less competing with ducks for weeds and tares.
I recall our youth in Luoyang,
Facing flowers, tilting glasses of crystal wine.
Of twenty years, how many remain?
Those who do are burdened with woes and estrangement.
For three years now, ill, I drink no more,
My eyes blurred, unable to tell a black horse from a yellow.
My bold heart fades, longing for idle places,
A simple livelihood suffices with a vegetable patch.
Leisurely, I follow zither, wine, fishing, and angling,
Climbing up and down woods and valleys.
While still strong and healthy, begin your joy,
Do not wait till frail, needing support.
I shall buy land by the clear Ying River,
To accompany you, holding hooves and plows.