In autumn of the second year of the emperor,
On an auspicious day in the intercalary eighth month.
I, Du Fu, am about to journey north,
Vast and vague, I inquire of my home.
In these times of hardship and peril,
Court and country have few days of leisure.
Ashamed of the imperial favor bestowed upon me,
By decree, I am permitted to return to my humble abode.
Bidding farewell at the palace steps,
Trembling, I linger long before departing.
Though lacking the demeanor of a remonstrator,
I fear the sovereign may have oversights.
You are truly a lord of restoration,
Governing with diligence and meticulous care.
The Eastern Hu rebellion persists unceasing,
And I, Fu, am filled with fervent indignation.
Wiping tears, I long for the imperial presence,
On the road, my mind still dazed and bewildered.
Heaven and earth bear the wounds of strife,
When will these worries and perils ever end?
Slowly I traverse the field paths,
Sparse and desolate are the signs of human habitation.
Most encountered are wounded,
Groaning, with fresh blood flowing.
Looking back at Fengxiang county,
Banners flicker in the evening light.
Ahead I climb the cold mountains, layer upon layer,
Repeatedly finding watering holes for horses.
The outskirts of Bin sink into the earth's depths,
The Jing River waters churn and swirl.
A fierce tiger stands before me,
The blue cliffs roar as if splitting.
Chrysanthemums droop with this autumn's blooms,
Rocks bear the ruts of ancient carts.
Blue clouds stir lofty spirits,
Secluded sights also bring delight.
Mountain fruits, mostly tiny and delicate,
Grow in profusion, mixed with acorns and chestnuts.
Some red as cinnabar,
Some black as lacquer dots.
Nourished by rain and dew,
Sweet and bitter alike bear fruit.
Longingly I think of the Peach Blossom Spring,
And sigh more deeply at my own life's clumsiness.
From the sloping heights, I gaze toward Fuzhi,
Where cliffs and valleys appear and disappear.
I have reached the water's edge,
My servant is still among the treetops.
Owls hoot in the yellow mulberries,
Field mice bow at the mouths of chaotic burrows.
Deep in the night, I pass a battlefield,
The cold moon shines on white bones.
At Tong Pass, a million troops,
How swiftly they scattered in times past.
Thus half the people of Qin
Were destroyed, turned into foreign ghosts.
Moreover, I fell into Hu dust,
And upon return, my hair turned completely white.
After a year, I reach my thatched hut,
My wife and children in patched clothing, a hundred mends.
Wails echo with the sound of pines,
Sad springs join in silent sobs.
My beloved son of all my life,
His complexion whiter than snow.
Seeing his father, he turns away weeping,
Filthy, his feet without socks.
By the bed, my two little girls,
Patched clothes barely past their knees.
Sea charts split into waves,
Old embroideries shifted and twisted.
The heavenly Wu and purple phoenixes,
Upside down on coarse short garments.
This old man's heart is heavy with sorrow,
Vomiting and purging, I lie ill for days.
If only I had silk in my bag,
To save you from the shivering cold.
Face powder and paints are also unpacked,
Quilts and covers gradually laid out.
My thin wife's face regains its light,
My silly girls comb their own hair.
Imitating their mother in everything,
Morning makeup applied haphazardly.
Later they dab on rouge and powder,
A mess, painting their eyebrows broad.
Alive, facing my young children,
As if wanting to forget hunger and thirst.
Asking questions, vying to tug my beard,
Who could scold them angrily at once?
Reflecting on the sorrows amid the rebels,
I gladly endure their noisy clamor.
Newly returned, comforted at heart,
How can I speak of livelihood?
The sovereign still suffers exile,
How many days till training of troops ceases?
Gazing up, the sky's hue changes,
Sitting, I feel the baleful air clear.
A bleak wind comes from the northwest,
Somber, following the Uighurs.
Their king wishes to aid the rightful cause,
Their custom excels in swift cavalry charges.
They send five thousand soldiers,
Driving ten thousand horses.
Such men are few and precious,
All quarters admire their courage and resolve.
Those employed are like soaring eagles,
Breaking the enemy swifter than arrows.
The imperial heart places much hope in them,
Current discussions are disheartened.
The Yi and Luo regions can be taken in a grasp,
The Western Capital is not hard to capture.
The imperial troops request a deep advance,
With stored sharpness, why not all launch forth?
This move will open Qing and Xu,
Soon we shall see the taking of Heng and Jie.
Vast Heaven accumulates frost and dew,
The righteous energy holds stern destruction.
Fortune turns to the year the Hu perish,
The situation ripens to capture the Hu moon.
How can the Hu's fate last long?
The imperial order should not be severed.
Recalling the initial chaos and panic,
Events differed from ancient times.
Treacherous ministers were minced into paste,
Their accomplices scattered and destroyed.
Never heard in the decline of Xia or Yin,
That they themselves executed Bao or Da.
Zhou and Han achieved restoration,
Xuan and Guang were indeed wise and brilliant.
Valiant General Chen,
Wielding the battle-axe, stirred with loyal fervor.
Without you, all would be lost,
But now the state still lives.
Desolate is the Datong Hall,
Lonely the White Beast Gate.
The capital's people gaze at the imperial banners,
Auspicious airs turn toward the golden palace.
The imperial tombs surely have divine protection,
Sweeping and sprinkling will not be neglected.
Glorious was Taizong's enterprise,
Its establishment was vast and grand.