At fourteen or fifteen, I roamed the literary scene.
Men of letters like Cui and Wei thought me a Ban or Yang.
At seven, my thoughts turned bold, I sang of the phoenix.
At nine, I wrote large characters, filling a bag with works.
My nature was bold, addicted to wine, hating evil with a firm heart.
I overlooked my young peers, befriending only the old and grey.
Drunk, I gazed to the world's ends, all vulgar things blurred away.
Eastward I went to Gusu Terrace, equipped to sail the sea.
To this day I regret not reaching Fusang's far shore.
The grace of Wang and Xie is distant, Helu's tomb lies desolate.
By the steep cliffs of Sword Pool, lotuses scent Changzhou's isles.
The towering Changmen Gate north, clear temples mirror winding ponds.
Each time I hastened to Taibo's shrine, events moved me to tears.
Pillowed on spears, I recalled Goujian; crossing Zhe, I thought of Qin's emperor.
Hearing of the fish-hidden dagger, I mocked the road-clearing seal.
Yue's maidens are fairest under heaven, Mirror Lake is cool in May.
Shanxi's beauty, rich and rare, I cannot forget, try as I might.
My returning sail brushed Tianmu, in midlife I offered service to my old home.
My spirit rivaled Qu and Jia's fortresses, my eyes belittled Cao and Liu's walls.
Failing the exams, I alone left the capital's halls.
Wandering free in Qi and Zhao, in furs and steeds, quite wild and proud.
Spring songs on Cong Terrace high, winter hunts by Green Mound side.
Calling hawks in the stable woods, chasing beasts on cloud-snow slopes.
Shooting birds at full gallop, drawing my bow to bring down waterfowl.
Su Hou, delighted in the saddle, seemed to have Ge Qiang by his side.
Eight or nine years of carefree joy, then west I returned to Xianyang.
My praise came from masters of verse, my outings with worthy kings.
Dragging robes in sweet-wine courts, presenting rhapsodies in bright halls.
The emperor summoned, forgetting meals; lords gathered in fine attire.
Freeing myself, loving nothing, I drank deeply, trusting fate's course.
My sable coat wore out, grey temples raised cups alone.
In Duqu, elders pass; white poplars surround the outskirts.
Seated deep, I gained the village's respect, daily feeling life and death's haste.
Vermilion gates contend and fall, whole clans meet disaster in turn.
State horses drain grain and beans, court fowl consume rice and millet.
One example shows waste; citing the past, I mourn rise and fall.
North winds of war rose in Heshuo; the emperor's long flight to Min Mountain.
Two palaces each with guarded routes, gazing afar across ten thousand miles.
Kongtong's murderous air turned black; Shaohai's banners yellow.
Yu's task passed to his son; at Zhuolu, he led the army himself.
Jade-canopied peaks gathered heroes; dragon-tigers devoured jackals.
When claws and teeth once missed their mark, barbarian troops grew rampant.
The great army marched in haste; weakness filled the realm's core.
A mere spare official, I mended robes, yet worry and fury soared.
Above, I grieved nine temples burned; below, pitied the people's wounds.
Then, prostrate on green rushes, I argued fiercely by the royal couch.
Dare I cherish life when the lord is shamed? In wrath, luckily unharmed.
The sage, embodying mercy, restored peace to the land.
Weeping in temple ashes, nose sour at court's dawn.
A petty officer, my counsel ignored; old and ill, a stranger in distant lands.
Gloomy, stifled, wings trapped, struggling low and high.
Autumn wind stirs mournful valleys; green orchids shed faint fragrance.
Like Zhitui avoiding reward, or the fisherman washing in Canglang.
Glory rivals merit; year's end brings harsh frost.
I observe the Lord of the Wineskin, talent and character beyond ordinary.
While rebels remain unsettled, I await the soaring of heroes.