Thinking of My Two Children憶二兒

I have one tender daughter, and already she knows how to call for her father and mother. She tugs at my clothes and plays on my knee, and when she gets a mirror she copies her mother's painting. How many months is it now since we parted? All at once it is as if she were here at my side. I am by nature a wandering scholar, fallen on hard times, lodging in a strange land. I lie soaked in drink for days together, and have lain sick more than thirty days. I turn my head and look toward the palace in the capital: mountains and rivers stand far off and overgrown. This morning I suddenly thought of you, and the tears ran down and wet my skirt. Groom, be quick and feed the horse — day by day my heart to go home grows more urgent.

I have one beloved son, and his name is Sambaek (三百). He will rise one day to carry on the line of the Yi, and on the evening of his birth he came startling his mother. When you were born your bones and brow were remarkable, your eyes shone and your face was fair as well. Three outstanding academicians were the guests at your noodle feast. They made poems to congratulate the birth of a son, and the ring of their words clanged like metal and stone. My wish is that you take after those men, that your talent and name trample Yuan Zhen and Bai Juyi. In my life I have had little cause to unknit my brows, but having you I laugh and jest the whole day long. Now and then I boast of you to others, and so have fallen at last into the habit of praising my child. Under the sky of the fifth month, in high summer, I first left the streets of Jangan (長安). Loitering, I became a traveler ten thousand li from home, and suddenly I see the frost-struck leaves gone red. The seasons change over day by day, and my illness grows worse by the day. There is no way to stroke that brow like a rhinoceros horn, and in grief upon grief my breast aches.