Dwelling by the Stream

Dwelling by the Stream

Long confined by official rank and tie,

I count it luck to be exiled to southern barbarians.

Leisurely I keep company with farmers and gardeners,

Now and then I seem a guest of the hills.

At dawn I till the fields turning dew-laden grass;

At night my boat grinds against the rocks in the stream.

Coming and going, I meet no one—

I sing long songs beneath the blue sky of Chu.