English Rendering
A wretched year
comes to an end; for the last
ten days there have been but dull grey skies
with wind and frost cutting across people’s
faces; going out by cart, wheels break
in the snow and ice; yet at such a time,
I feel not the smallest discomfort; my
morning meal is never a problem as
my store is full of grain;
for the evening cold there is plenty
of fuel; a heavy padded cap
comes down over my ears, while
two thicknesses of fur enwrap
my body; I sit and drink
a cup of wine at leisure –
to me it’s as warm as spring;
but most of the lesser gentry
and common folk of Luoyang
are poor and hungry, one house
hard against the next, with
no smoke rising from any
of their hearths, too often their
family cooking pots thick
with dust; those like myself who
are well fed and clothed
number less than one
in a hundred; how can I
but be ashamed of myself?
I write this poem
to state the matter clearly.
