| 英譯： |
Three score and ten! A slave to office yet!
In the Li Chi these luminous words befall:
“The lust for honours honours not at all,”
Here is the golden line we most forget.
Alas! how these long years afflict a man!
When teeth are gone, and failing eyes grow dim.
The morning dews brought dreams of fame to him
Who bears in dusk the burdens of his clan.
His eyes still linger on the tassel blue.
And still the red sedan of rank appeals,
But his shrunk belly scarce the girdle feels
As, bowed, he crawls the Prince’s Gateway through.
Where is the man that would not wealth acclaim?
Who would not truckle for his sovereign's grace?
Yet years of high renown their furrows trace.
And greatness overwhelms the weary frame.
The springs of laughter flow not from his heart.
Where bide the dust and glamour of old days.
Who walks alone in contemplation’s ways?
’Tis he, the happy man, who dwells apart.
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