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A.D. 815

At the rise of summer a hundred beasts and trees
Join in gladness that the season bids them thrive.
Stags and does frolic in the deep woods;
Snakes and insects are pleased by the rank grass.
Wingèd birds love the thick leaves;
Scaly fish enjoy the fresh weeds.
But to one place Summer forgot to come;
I alone am left like a withered straw ...
Banished to the world's end;
Flesh and bone all in distant ways.
From my native-place no tidings come;
Rebel troops flood the land with war.
Sullen grief, in the end, what will it bring?
I am only wearing my own heart away.
Better far to let both body and mind
Blindly yield to the fate that Heaven made.
Hsün-yang abounds in good wine;
I will fill my cup and never let it be dry.
On Pen River fish are cheap as mud;
Early and late I will eat them, boiled and fried.
With morning rice at the temple near the hill,
And evening wine at the island on the lake ...
Why should my thoughts turn to my native land?
For in this place one could well end one's age.