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It floats about, that boat of cypress wood; |
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Yea, it floats about on the current. |
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Disturbed am I and sleepless, |
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As if suffering from a painful wound. |
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It is not because I have no wine, |
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And that I might not wander and saunder about. |
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My mind is not a mirror; -- |
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It cannot [equally] receive [all impressions]. |
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I, indeed, have brothers, |
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But I cannot depend on them, |
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I meet with their anger. |
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My mind is not a stone; -- |
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It cannot be rolled about. |
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My mind is not a mat; -- |
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It cannot be rolled up. |
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My deportment has been dignified and good, |
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With nothing wrong which can be pointed out. |
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My anxious heart is full of trouble; |
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I am hated by the herd of mean creatures; |
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I meet with many distresses; |
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I receive insults not a few. |
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Silently I think of my case, |
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And, starting as from sleep, I beat my breast. |
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There are the sun and moon, -- |
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How is it that the former has become small, and not the latter? |
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The sorrow cleaves to my heart, |
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Like an unwashed dress. |
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Silently I think of my case, |
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But I cannot spread my wings and fly away. |
Published
by The Institute for Advanced Technology in the Humanities, © Copyright 2003
by Anne Kinney and the University of Virginia