<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 隱几贈客>
<Format: 五言古詩>
<Year: 1981>
<BookName: Tu Fu -A New Translation>
<Translator: Wu, Juntao>
<TranslatedTitle: Leaning on a Table, Presented to a Guest>
<BookPage: 576-577>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 0>
<End Header>
<Poem>
宦情本淡薄
年貌又老醜
紫綬與金章
於予亦何有
有時獨隱几
荅然無所偶
臥枕一卷書
起嘗一盃酒
書將引昏睡
酒用扶衰朽
客到忽已酣
脫巾坐搔首
疎頑倚老病
容恕慙交友
忽思莊生言
亦擬鞭其後
<End Poem>
<Translation>
My estimate of officialdom is shallow and meagre,
My appearance in old age is ugly and worn.
Purple sash and gold insignia
No longer hold a meaning for me.
So at times when alone I lean on a table.
Casually, with unthinking mind,
Lie down, with a book for pillow,
Or rise and try a cup of wine.
The book transports me to a muddled sleep;
The wine upholds me in my withered decay.
By the time my guests arrive I'm already tipsy.
I remove my turban, sit and scratch my head.
Through age and illness I'm indolent and useless;
I'm embarrassed and shamed before my kind friends.
Suddenly I think of Master Chuang's words
On cultivating the inner and outer selves.
<End Translation>