歸去來辭
東晉 陶淵明 ( 365~427 )

歸去來兮，田園將蕪，胡不歸！
既知自心為形役，奚惆悵而獨悲？
悟已往之不諫，知來者之可追。
實迷途其未遠，覺今是而昨非。
舟搖搖以輕揚，風飄飄而吹衣。
問征夫以前路，恨晨光之曦微。
乃瞻衡宇，載欣載奔。
童僕歡迎，稚子候門。
三徑就荒，松菊猶存。
攜幼入室，有酒盈樽。
引壺觴以自酌，眄庭柯以怡顏。
倚南窗以寄傲，審容膝之易安。
園日涉以成趣，門雖設而常關。
策扶老以流憩，時矯首而遐觀。
雲無心以出岫，鳥倦飛而知還。
景翳翳以將入，撫孤松而盤桓。
歸去來兮，請息交以絕遊。
世與我而相遺，復駕言兮焉求？
悅親戚之情話，樂琴書以消憂。
農人告餘以春及，將有事乎西疇。
或命巾車，或棹孤舟，
既窈窕以尋壑，亦崎嶇而經丘。
木欣欣以向榮，泉涓涓而始流。
羨萬物之得時，感吾生之行休。
已矣乎！
寓形宇內復幾時？
何不委心任去留？
胡為遑遑欲何之？
富貴非吾願，帝鄉不可期。
懷良晨以孤往，或執杖而耘耔。
登東皋以舒嘯，臨清流而賦詩。
聊乘化以歸盡，樂夫天命復奚疑？

Home it is!
Tao Yuanming (365 - 427, Eastern Jin Dynasty)

The boat rolls gently, and the wind sets my robe flying. As I
inquire travelers for directions, my silent groans about the faint early
daylight.

Upon sight of my humble abode, I leaped forward with joy. A
welcome from the houseboy, and greetings by my young son at the
door. Leading my boy by his hand, I entered the house to find a full
urn of wine. Pouring myself a cup, I looked out, delighted by the view
of garden trees. Leaning off the south window were I as well as my
pride and sentiments, a humble place could be surprisingly soothing.

I enjoyed my daily strolls inside the garden, gate usually closed
in seclusion. With my staff, I wandered about, stopping to rest at
will, and occasionally stared into the far distance. Clouds adrift top
mountain peaks, unwittingly. Birds return home on their weary
feathers, eagerly. As the sun began to set, I lingered between those
lone pines, my hand on their majestic trunks. Home it is; I shall sever
all connections and stay reclusive.

Since the world has turned against me, incentives to reach out are
no more. I shall find joy in my relatives’ chitchats, and drown out my
sorrows with my zither and books.

Now that farmers have informed me of the nearing spring,
westward I shall go and plough. Commuting either by a wagon or
a boat, occasionally I would drift along the windy creeks into the
valleys, or via rugged roads onto the hills.

Flourishing trees and trickling streams arouse my envy of
their timely godsend blessings, and at the same time, cause me to
lament over the numbered days of my life.

Alas! How much is left of my mortal days? I may as well
entrust it to fate and jitter at my destiny no more. Wealth is not
of my desire, nor is paradise of a good hope. All I ask is to take a
lone excursion out on sunny days, or plant my staff, and work in
the fields. I can ascend the east high mound and scream off the
top of my lung, or sit by glassy creeks and set my poetic muse in
motion. I shall follow the course of nature till the days end. To
live carefree and accept life, how can this ever be doubtful?