<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 官俸初罷親故見憂，以詩諭之>
<Format: 五言古詩>
<Year: 1981>
<BookName: Tu Fu -A New Translation>
<Translator: Wu, Juntao>
<TranslatedTitle: A Poem for My Friends, Who Worry about My Having Retired>
<BookPage: 533-534>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 2>
<End Header>
<Poem>
七年爲少傅
品高俸不薄
乘軒已多慙
況是一病鶴
又及懸車歲
筋力轉衰弱
豈以貧是憂
尚爲名所縛
今春始病免
纓組初擺落
蜩甲有何知
雲心無所從
囷中殘舊穀
可備歲飢惡
園中多新蔬
未至食藜藿
不求安師卜
不問陳生藥
但對丘中琴
時開池上酌
信風舟不繫
掉尾魚方樂
親友不我知
而憂我寂寞
<End Poem>
<Translation>
For seven years I was Tutor to the Crown Prince,
My rank high, salary far from meagre.
How could I, a sick crane, fail to be ashamed
Riding proudly about in those grand carriages?
$(Just think of those years hanging over me)$
With my sinews' vigor weakened and decayed!
Perhaps I'm now worried by poverty
But how can I still be bound to illusions of fame?
For the first time this spring, because of illness,
I've been able to throw off my official cap and insignia.
Since I'm the mere shell of a cicada,
What do I really know?
My heart is in the clouds' unfixed abode;
I've a few grains in the warehouse
To stave off starvation's threat.
There are many fresh vegetables in my garden,
Though buds and fresh leaves
Are not yet ready to eat.
I don't seek out fortunetellers;
I don't inquire of famous doctors;
Instead I face the hills, lute in hand,
Or open the wine-jug while boating on the pond.
I let the boat drift freely in the wind;
The fish wag their tails with pleasure—
My friends know nothing of all this.
That's why they worry,
Supposing me lonely and forlorn.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
For seven years I was Tutor to the Crown Prince,
My rank high, salary far from meagre.
How could I, a sick crane, 
fail to be ashamed
Riding proudly about in those grand carriages?
$(Just think of those years hanging over me)$
With my sinews' vigor weakened and decayed!
Perhaps I'm now worried by poverty
But how can I still be bound to illusions of fame?
For the first time this spring, because of illness,
I've been able to throw off my official cap and insignia.
Since I'm the mere shell of a cicada, what do I really know?
My heart is in the clouds' unfixed abode;
I've a few grains in the warehouse
To stave off starvation's threat.
There are many fresh vegetables in my garden,
Though buds and fresh leaves are not yet ready to eat.
I don't seek out fortunetellers;
I don't inquire of famous doctors;
Instead I face the hills, lute in hand,
Or open the wine-jug while boating on the pond.
I let the boat drift freely in the wind;
The fish wag their tails with pleasure—
My friends know nothing of all this.
That's why they worry, supposing me lonely and forlorn.
<End Formatted Translation>