| 英譯： |
Ten years a traveler,
ever plagued by hunger and chill;
three years an admonisher at court,
so often ashamed to be drawing pay unearned.
There was wine, but no leisure to drink it,
mountains, but I never got to stroll them.
Always hoping to retire,
but, yanked and pulled about, what freedom did I have?
Then one morning I came home to the Wei,
bobbing like an unmoored boat,
mind fixed on other than worldly concerns,
not joyful, not downcast either.
Every day the same sort of vegetable fare,
all year one cloth-lined jacket,
and with the cold, lazier then ever－
comb my hair once in how many days?－
mornings up only when I've had all the sleep I want,
nights to bed after I've drunk my fill.
The mind wants nothing more than satisfaction;
outside satisfaction, what's there to seek?
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