Lord Cui's writings are swift and keen,
Like towering waves that reach the sky, never drained.
He came to the capital from beyond the pass,
With scrolls filling carts, one after another.
At dawn, a hundred rhapsodies, still seething with wrath,
By dusk, a thousand poems, turning vigorous and tight.
Wielding brush, discarding slips, he cannot supply enough,
In moments, mirages of blue and red float on the sea.
His talent fierce, his spirit bold, words flow too easily,
Often dragons mingle with earthworms in his lines.
Since ancient times, a true connoisseur is hard to find,
The vulgar, at first sight, may scoff—let them not hinder.
Do not resent that as a judge you've not reached court;
Better than a red-robed sheriff ever bowing to the mayor.
Though fate is adverse, your heart grows stouter still,
Skills vainly rich, your household sinks in deeper need.
I recall when we met in the dusty world,
Clashing for fame, holding spear against shield.
You then held the stage, boasting like a fighting cock,
I first arrayed my troops, tightening bridle and trace.
Since then, I only wish to guard my borders,
Do not learn from Pang Juan, who feared Sun Bin.
Newly returned from exile, I loathe the noise,
Teeth and hair early衰, alas, pitiable.
Often blamed in verses, pricked for being cast aside,
How dare an idle officer recommend anyone?
Deep in my chest I hide them, now and then releasing,
Packed tight, already many, like bundled bamboo shoots.
Pitiful, this waste of spirit without gain,
Like throwing gold into a barren valley.
Now the sage seeks attendants,
Selecting fine wood, gathering even coarse fungi.
Dong, Ma, Yan, Xu have already soared,
Mei Gao, summoned though poor, must endure.
Again I hear the royal army westwards strikes Shu,
Frosty winds, biting, crush the morning mushroom.
Running documents, speeding dispatches need the worthy,
Sparrows clamor, but what's needed is the hawk.
I reckon one of two paths surely will be yours,
How can you, like common men, long蠢蠢?
I urge you to nurture, wait for the summons,
No need to carve and fret, straining liver and kidneys.
By the wall's root, chrysanthemums, fine for buying wine,
Though coins and silk run out, clothes can be pawned.
Warm and bright, eaves' sunlight, fresh and clear,
Rustling, well-side parasol trees, sparse, falling more.
A noble scholar must, by rule, love the brewing grain,
A true man should never raise borders in his heart.
Come if you can, get drunk, let clamor reign,
After death, wise and foolish all vanish alike.