Page:More Translations from the Chinese (Waley).djvu/56

 [24] ILLNESS AND IDLENESS

and idleness give me much leisure. What do I do with my leisure, when it comes? I cannot bring myself to discard inkstone and brush; Now and then I make a new poem. When the poem is made, it is slight and flavourless, A thing of derision to almost every one. Superior people will be pained at the flatness of the metre; Common people will hate the plainness of the words. I sing it to myself, then stop and think about it. ..

The Prefects of Soochow and P'ēng-tsē Would perhaps have praised it, but they died long ago.
 * Who else would care to hear it?

No one to-day except Yüan Chēn, And he is banished to the City of Chiang-ling, For three years an usher in the Penal Court. Parted from me by three thousand leagues He will never know even that the poem was made. [52]