On Ouyang Xiu

Chen Hwa

In dealing with others, practice faith,
In answering heaven, practice sincerity.
When doing good, we fear others will know—
Hidden virtue is like the ringing of ears,
Heard by oneself alone.

In ordinary times we seem foolish and crude,
But when action calls, true nature reveals.
Thus the superior man guards his station,
Shamed by a name that exceeds his deeds.

Alas, my understanding of the Way runs shallow,
And I squander this life in dejection.
As autumn comes, I harvest nothing—
Like a farmer who never tilled his spring fields.

My path diverges from the world's favor,
My crooked will draws constant blame.
Clearly I sink in obscurity—
What storm or wave could be worse?

A tender shoot overshadows mighty timber,
All colors envy the pure white.
Why mimic leather's softness
When stone's hardness makes us laugh?

Better to lose without fault
Than to gain what justice forbids.
This sorrow I dare not speak aloud—
Let my poem speak the voiceless bird's heart.

In youth I coveted fame and honor,
Pursuing goodness, forgetting dawn and dusk.
My lofty aims were the moon in heaven,
My swift spirit a steed racing the slopes.
Within my breast I kept remonstrances,
Each one worthy of recording.

But who could foresee the ant's missing tooth
Would chip the Sacred Sword?
A rainbow spanning ten thousand lengths
Shriveled to one mere inch.

Now I know the scholar's cap misled me—
Can I escape this mournful sigh?
Yet all rests in Heaven's balance;
The Celestial Ear is never far.

The past cannot be reclaimed,
Nor can I force fortune's return.
My humble alley knows little dryness,
Battered by the monsoon's deluge.
My saddle gathers dust from disuse,
Only spiders weave their threads before my door.

Once I heard the recluse say:
“Follow the Way, and spirits bring no harm.”
I asked him then: “In a hundred idle years,
How does anxiety gain no foothold?”

So I take my simple amaranth gruel,
With no longing for the flesh of beasts.