Oh, home haste I! Why not return when fields and garden growing waste?
Myself have made my soul the slave of my form, why regret and grieve alone?
I realize that no bygones can be undone, but the future overtaken. I have,
indeed, gone astray not far, and feel myself right at present, wrong in
the past.
The boat rocketh lightly and floateth along; the breeze gently wafteth
and playeth upon my gown. I ask a passenger the way, for the dawn is odiously
grey; and at the sight of my old roofs afar, my pace quickeneth with joy.
the pages smile welcome; the children await me at door. Deserted are the
garden-paths, but yet alive the chrysanthemums and pines. Taking my youngest
I enter the room and see the cups overrun with wine. Holding the pot and
cup, I give myself a drink, and glancing at the boughs in yard, my smile
groweth broad.
On south window I loll with the content of proud freedom and know my humble
abode full of leisure and ease. Daily stroll in garden is my pleasure and
though the house hath a door, it is always shut.
Carrying a cane I wander about and raise my head at times to have a long
view. Aimlessly rise the idle clouds out of the dale and sensible of returning
are the birds from weary flight. The dim dusk will soon fade, but I linger
on inclining upon a lonely pine.
Oh, home haste I! Let me cease any acquaintance and have no more journey
abroad! Since the world and I have broken with each other, what I seek
for if I go round again?
With delight I enjoy the agreeable discourse of my family circle and indulge
in lute and books to banish my sorrow. When the peasants tell me that Spring
is come, I have something to do on the western farm.
Now I order a covered chaise and now take a single boat; sometimes far up
to explore a winding stream and sometimes to drive over rugged mounds. The
trees flourish and burst into leaf; the spring floweth in never-ceasing
gurgling.
I envy all the things in prosperity coinciding with seasons and feel my
life is nigh to its end. Be it so! How long yet can I keep my mortal form
in this world? Why not give up desires and leave them alone, and where
am I to go restlessly?
Riches and power are not my wish and God's paradise canth not be gained.
On fine days I am out alone for a walk or planting my cane to pluck weeds
and till ground. On the eastern fields I raise a merry long call, or by
a clear creek weave my verse. I am satisfied to live and die in natural
course, and happy with Heaven's will without doubts.
