No more petitions to the palace – $(I am going home)$
To my broken-down cottage by the southern mountain.
A brilliant ruler discards a man of no talent;
A man beset with illness has few friends.
My white hair hastens on my old age
And spring follows hard on the end of the year.
Forever beset by sorrow, I’m too troubled to sleep;
At my window at night the moon in the pines is bleak.