Writing is an affair of a thousand ages;
Gain and loss are known only to the innermost heart.
All authors stand in distinct ranks,
How could fame be idly handed down?
Lament that the poets of Sao are no longer seen,
Yet the Han way flourished here.
The predecessors soared and entered,
Their lingering ripples became ornate.
Later worthies combine with the old ranks,
Each dynasty has its own pure norms.
Method comes from the Confucians,
But the heart wearies from tender years.
I forever cherish the grace of Jiangzuo,
And the marvels of ailing Yezhong.
Lu and Ji are both fine steeds,
Qilin brings fine sons.
The wheel was carved in vain,
The hall's frame, alas, remains deficient.
Casually I write a "Hermit's Discourse",
Vainly pass on the "Young Wife's Stele."
Following feeling, I console my drifting,
Holding illness, I move time and again.
Statecraft shames my long-term plans,
Flying to roost, I borrow a single branch.
Dust and sand teem with wasps and scorpions,
River gorges coil with flood dragons.
Desolate, Tang and Yu are far,
In succession, Chu and Han were perilous.
This sage dynasty mingles with bandits,
Alien customs grow more clamorous and base.
Gloomy, the Starry Sword,
Vast, the Cloud-Rain Pool.
Two capitals open military headquarters,
Ten thousand regions plant army banners.
The South Sea's bronze pillar stands broken,
The east wind avoids the Yuezhi.
Messages grieve the magpie,
Roaring anger blames bears and brown bears.
Farming shares my poetic impulse,
Thatched gates learn the local ways.
My old mountains are lost in White Pavilion,
Autumn waters hide by Yellow Slope.
I dare not seek fine lines,
When sorrow comes, I chant of parting.