My heart of old was free and far,
My learning now is vast and wide.
Like rivers surging to the sea,
Its boundless shores I cannot spy.
Though life delights in written word,
My toil can't clear the desk's debris.
Old drafts lie piled in dust and grime,
My brush has long run dry and bare.
I only know to set up shop,
Displaying wares on every side.
No diligence to probe the depths,
How can I judge what's wise or not?
Alone, I ponder mysteries late,
Old habits fade, their traces gone.
I grasp the promise of next year,
Forget the count of days gone by.
I've heard that diligence and sloth,
Already mark the fool and sage.
Ashamed, what face have I to show?
To flee disgrace, no brush I own.
I cannot rein my own neglect,
What strength to stop another's breach?
My writings brush the world's disdain,
My words are curbed, guests take their leave.
The times drag tastes to baser realms,
Customs confound what's right and wrong.
Early decline steals former strength,
New frailty comes with frequent ills.
My mind is worn by food and cloth,
Half my affairs are salt and rice.
What plan to free myself and go,
Cut ties and break with common ways?
To plough wild lands and eat fresh yield,
Reopen caves, restore old paths.
I think of life as winter ice,
That only thaws when spring brings death.
How brief the time that lies between,
Why cling to hardship, slow and strained?
So graceful, Huainan's finest souls,
So bright, the crown of scholar groves.
Before I roamed among your ranks,
You honored me as neighbor once.
Your verses show a splendid bloom,
Your arguments stand firm and strong.
Your rare gifts late took flight and soared,
To serve the prince, a precious gem.
Your recent letters stir my heart,
You flatter me with praise and name.
You know not this old man is dull,
And long has cast such things aside.
You bravely forge your own new path,
Unbridling fresh and spirited steeds.
You'll gather springtime's verdant gifts,
And weave them into your return.
Parting recalls our former joys,
Moving on finds new bonds to tie.
Though without lute, I sing alone,
With wine, who'll share this cup with me?
In leisure, send your poems here,
That we may trade this rich exchange.