DWELLING BY A STREAM
I had so long been troubled by official hat and robe
That I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland.
I am a neighbour now of planters and reapers.
I am a guest of the mountains and woods.
I plough in the morning, turning dewy grasses,
And at evening tie my fisher-boat, breaking the quiet stream.
Back and forth I go, scarcely meeting anyone,
And sing a long poem and gaze at the blue sky.
Jiǔ wèi zān zǔ lèi, xìng cǐ nán yí zhé.
Xián yī nóng pǔ lín, ǒu shì shānlín kè.
Xiǎo gēng fān lùcǎo, yè bǎng xiǎng xī shí.
Láiwǎng bù féng rén, chánggē chu tiān bì.