When first I came to the capital,
I brought only a bundle of books.
Through thirty years of toil,
I've come to own this house.
This house is not luxurious,
But more than enough for me.
The central hall is tall and new,
With seasonal vegetables year-round.
The front wing feasts guests and kin,
For capping and wedding rites.
The courtyard holds little else,
But eight or nine tall trees.
Vines twine and cover them,
Flowering in spring, shading in summer.
Sitting in the east hall, I see mountains,
Clouds and winds whisper to each other.
Pine cones link to the south pavilion,
Outside lie melon and taro plots.
The west wing has few rooms,
Locust and elm shade the empty space.
Mountain birds sing morn and eve,
As if dwelling in a ravine.
My wife manages the north hall,
Meals and clothes for kin, close or distant.
By grace, titled Lady Gaoping,
Sons and grandsons follow court robes.
Opening the gate, I ask who comes,
None but ministers and high officials.
I know not their ranks high or low,
Jade belts hang golden fish pendants.
I ask what brings my guests,
In tall hats, they discourse on Tang and Yu.
After food and wine, with nothing to do,
We amuse ourselves with chess and spear-tossing.
Almost all among these seated,
Nine in ten hold pivotal posts.
Asked who visits most often,
None like Zhang and Fan.
Their visits too have no agenda,
Just assessing the Way's fine and coarse.
Gracefully they charm young scholars,
Daily disciples crowd the walls and screens.
Using the able to question the unable,
How can such blindness be dispelled?
Alas, I do not adorn myself,
My affairs are with common folk.
How can I sit like this,
Shoulder to shoulder with court scholars?
This poem I show to my children,
May they not lose their original intent.