My life began a humble scholar, poor,
And old, I still hold scrolls within my hand.
Though eyes grow weary, vision is no more,
My mind and will are eager to expand.
True classics start with Yao and Shun's command,
False doctrines rose when Qin and Han held sway.
Chapters vary in how phrases stand,
With glosses, notes to parse what texts convey.
Right clashes with wrong in a fierce affray,
To choose or spurn demands a courage bold.
At first like two great armies in array,
Who fight a heated battle, uncontrolled.
When drums and banners urge the troops to hold,
Unconscious of the sweat on man and steed.
O joy supreme beneath the heaven's fold!
All day at desk and table I take heed.
I think when first I followed my tutor's creed,
Studying hard, I hoped for office high.
I dared not seek for fame or worldly meed,
But longed from poverty to break and fly.
Forgetting food till sunset in the sky,
I burned the midnight oil till dawn's first light.
I thought once I had climbed, I'd satisfy,
And burn my brush and inkstone out of sight.
To pay back toil, I'd only sleep and eat aright,
But time flows on and will not wait for me.
Now more than half my life has taken flight.
In between, I served, though unworthily,
In posts both near and far, in ministry.
My rank grew honored, close to royal grace,
My stipend ample, filling all with glee.
But human habits tread a dangerous place,
Like poison hidden in a feast's embrace.
Gradually I followed fashion's race,
And learned to manage matters, commonplace.
With cups and plates from land and sea's expanse,
I gathered guests of talent and renown.
Since middle age, with all life's circumstance,
A hundred arrows of affairs shot down.
Not only duties brought a worried frown,
But aging's sigh weighed heavy on my soul.
My body suffers, weak and wearing down,
My heart and will retreat, no more in control.
The joys that pleased me once, I now extol
No more, and shut my eyes to their display.
I only seek old books, to make me whole,
Though pages crumble, brittle in decay.
The ancients prized review, as sages say;
Luckily, official tasks now leave a space.
Then I know reading's toil, come what may,
Brings joy unbounded, time cannot erase.
Young, for salary and fame I'd chase,
Old, I use it to forget my plight.
And know that things grow precious with time's grace,
Like finest treasure tempered in the fire's light.
Splendor is fleeting, lovely to the sight,
But like a floating cloud, it fades away.
Plain living's flavor lengthens with delight,
From start to end, it never goes astray.
When may I beg my worn-out bones to stay,
And be from blame and fault perhaps set free?
I'll buy books, load a boat, and sail away,
Build a house by Ying River's bank for me.
In life I've written much, as all can see,
Edited, polished, ordered line by line.
Hoping my works may last for posterity,
Not die in silence like a beast's design.
True indeed, bookworm fish, your fate is mine,
Han Yu's words are not mockery, but sign.