Farmhouse by the Wei River

Farmhouse by the Wei River

The slanting sun shines on the village walls,

Down the narrow lanes the cattle and sheep come home.

An old country boy thinks of the herdboy,

Leaning on his staff by the bramble gate.

Pheasants call, the wheat shoots up lush and green,

Silkworms sleep, the mulberry leaves grow thin.

Farmers shouldering hoes arrive one after another,

Meeting and talking with lingering warmth.

At this I envy their quiet ease,

Sighing, I chant the old song of "Shi Wei."