The Book of Songs has three hundred poems,
Elegant, beautiful, reasoned, instructive.
Touched by the sage's hand,
How dare I discuss them?
Five-character verse emerged in Han times,
Su Wu and Li Ling first made it known.
The Eastern Capital gradually overflowed,
Tributaries branched like a hundred streams.
Seven talents in Jian'an period,
Outstanding, changing style and tone.
Meandering into Jin and Song,
Vitality daily waned.
Among them Bao and Xie,
Most refined and profound.
Qi, Liang, Chen, and Sui,
Works like cicada noise.
Picking spring flowers,
Plagiarism hurts tradition.
Our dynasty flourishes in letters,
Chen Zi'ang first soared high.
Vigorous rise brought Li and Du,
All things oppressed by their force.
Later ones came in succession,
Each reaching deep realms.
There is the poor Meng Jiao,
His talent truly fierce.
Silent gaze pierces past and present,
Beyond forms, chasing subtle beauty.
Hard phrases soar across the sky,
Firmly set, strength overwhelming.
Gentle yet winding and ample,
Fierce as rolling sea tides.
Splendor rivals heaven's grace,
Swiftness surpasses echo.
Conduct follows rules,
Prefers shame to flattery.
Mencius divided wrong and right,
By clarity of the eye.
Serene, pure, and clear,
Can calm restless hearts.
Poor, cold Liyang assistant,
Fifty, nearing old age.
Diligent in seeking comfort,
Long endured hardship.
Who among vulgar streams knows him?
Point, mock, compete in pride.
The sage emperor seeks the left-out,
Elite scholars daily advance.
The court has worthy ministers,
Love and care cover all.
Moreover, with Gui and Zhang,
Two lords sigh in turn.
Blue sky sends encouragement,
Strong arrow pierces thin silk.
Why long without success?
So that he tells return date.
Frost wind ruins fine chrysanthemums,
Fine festival urges hat blown.
Thinking to leave resolutely,
Moved by things, love grows.
Those tiny water plants,
Still need picking left and right.
Lu, a tiny state,
Temple cauldron held Gao tripod.
Luckily should choose jade,
How discard precious gem?
Long, long my thoughts,
Troubled like banner in wind.
I say ashamed no way,
Day and night only pray.
Crane feathers not born with,
Change comes from brooding.
Open waves not hard to chart,
Small land easy to channel.
Loving good not hasty,
Later only regret.
Saving life with eight delicacies,
Less than one basket of reward.
My humble poem, lord, don't mock,
Kindness, joy, spirit bless.