歸去來兮辭并序 Home Again: a Rhapsody, with Preface Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (c. 365–427) Six Dynasties · 405 Cold Library · Open Stacks · S-002025 · https://coldlibrary.com/s/002025 Rights: Eastern Jin rhapsody; the author died in 427. Checked for Australia, the EU, the UK, mainland China and the United States as of 11 October 2026. Guidance, not legal advice. Source: Wikisource, https://zh.wikisource.org/wiki/歸去來辭並序 (retrieved 2026-10-11) English translation: Claude (an AI), 2026 · CC0 1.0 Generated 2026-10-14 from https://coldlibrary.com/en/open-stacks/tao-yuanming-home-again ---- 余家貧，耕植不足以自給。幼稚盈室，缾無儲粟。生生所資，未見其術。親故多勸余為長吏，脫然有懷，求之靡途。會有四方之事，諸侯以惠愛為德；家叔以余貧苦，遂見用為小邑。于時風波未靜，心憚遠役。彭澤去家百里，公田之利，足以為酒，故便求之。及少日，眷然有歸歟之情。何則？質性自然，非矯勵所得。飢凍雖切，違己交病。嘗從人事，皆口腹自役。於是悵然慷慨，深愧平生之志。猶望一稔，當斂裳宵逝。尋程氏妹喪于武昌，情在駿奔，自免去職。仲秋至冬，在官八十餘日。因事順心，命篇曰《歸去來兮》。乙巳歲十一月也。 歸去來兮，田園將蕪胡不歸？ 既自以心為形役，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。 舟遙遙以輕颺，風飄飄而吹衣。 問征夫以前路，恨晨光之熹微。 乃瞻衡宇，載欣載奔。 僮僕歡迎，稚子候門。 三徑就荒，松菊猶存。 携幼入室，有酒盈罇。 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。 世與我而相違，復駕言兮焉求？ 悅親戚之情話，樂琴書以消憂。 農人告余以春及，將有事於西疇。 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。 善萬物之得時，感吾生之行休。 已矣乎！寓形宇內復幾時？ 曷不委心任去留？ 胡為乎遑遑欲何之？ 富貴非吾願，帝鄉不可期。 懷良辰以孤往，或植杖而耘耔。 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！ ---- 余家贫，耕植不足以自给。幼稚盈室，瓶无储粟。生生所资，未见其术。亲故多劝余为长吏，脱然有怀，求之靡途。会有四方之事，诸侯以惠爱为德；家叔以余贫苦，遂见用为小邑。于时风波未静，心惮远役。彭泽去家百里，公田之利，足以为酒，故便求之。及少日，眷然有归欤之情。何则？质性自然，非矫励所得。饥冻虽切，违己交病。尝从人事，皆口腹自役。于是怅然慷慨，深愧平生之志。犹望一稔，当敛裳宵逝。寻程氏妹丧于武昌，情在骏奔，自免去职。仲秋至冬，在官八十余日。因事顺心，命篇曰《归去来兮》。乙巳岁十一月也。 归去来兮，田园将芜胡不归？ 既自以心为形役，奚惆怅而独悲！ 悟已往之不谏，知来者之可追； 实迷途其未远，觉今是而昨非。 舟遥遥以轻飏，风飘飘而吹衣。 问征夫以前路，恨晨光之熹微。 乃瞻衡宇，载欣载奔。 僮仆欢迎，稚子候门。 三径就荒，松菊犹存。 携幼入室，有酒盈樽。 引壶觞以自酌，眄庭柯以怡颜。 倚南窗以寄傲，审容膝之易安。 园日涉以成趣，门虽设而常关。 策扶老以流憩，时矫首而遐观。 云无心以出岫，鸟倦飞而知还。 景翳翳以将入，抚孤松而盘桓。 归去来兮！请息交以绝游。 世与我而相违，复驾言兮焉求？ 悦亲戚之情话，乐琴书以消忧。 农人告余以春及，将有事于西畴。 或命巾车，或棹孤舟。 既窈窕以寻壑，亦崎岖而经丘。 木欣欣以向荣，泉涓涓而始流。 善万物之得时，感吾生之行休。 已矣乎！寓形宇内复几时？ 曷不委心任去留？ 胡为乎遑遑欲何之？ 富贵非吾愿，帝乡不可期。 怀良辰以孤往，或植杖而耘耔。 登东皋以舒啸，临清流而赋诗。 聊乘化以归尽，乐夫天命复奚疑！ ---- English translation by Claude (an AI) My family was poor, and farming could not keep us. The house was full of small children, and there was no grain stored in the jars. I could see no way to provide what we needed to live. Relatives and friends often urged me to take a post as an official, and I came round to the idea, but there was no way to get one. Then there was business in the four quarters, and the princes thought kindness a virtue; my uncle, seeing how poor I was, had me appointed to a small county. At that time the storms of the age had not yet settled, and I dreaded serving far away. Pengze was a hundred miles from home, and the produce of the public fields was enough to make wine, so I asked for it. But after only a few days I felt a longing to go home. Why? My nature is simple and honest, and it cannot be forced into shape. Hunger and cold may be pressing, but going against myself made me ill in body and mind. Whenever I had served in public affairs, it had been my mouth and belly that made me a servant. So I was disappointed and troubled, and deeply ashamed before the aims I had held all my life. Still, I hoped to wait one harvest and then gather my robes and slip away by night. Soon afterwards my sister, married into the Cheng family, died in Wuchang, and I longed to rush to her, so I resigned my post of my own accord. From mid-autumn to winter I was in office a little more than eighty days. Because the event followed my heart's wish, I wrote this piece and called it Home Again. It is the eleventh month of the year yisi. Home again, home again: the fields and garden will be choked with weeds; why not go home? Since I myself have made my heart the servant of my body, why grieve alone in my despair? I know the past cannot be mended, but I know the future can still be overtaken. I have not gone far down the wrong road; I see that I am right today, and was wrong yesterday. The boat rocks lightly as it sails along, the wind blows and flutters my robe. I ask a traveller the way ahead, and wish the morning light were not so faint. Then I catch sight of my gate and roof, and run towards them full of joy. The servants come out to greet me, the little ones wait at the door. The three paths are almost overgrown, but the pines and chrysanthemums are still there. I take the youngest by the hand and go in; there is a jar full of wine. I lift the jug and cup and pour for myself, and look at the trees in the yard with a smiling face. I lean at the south window, free of care, and see how easily one can be at peace in a room just big enough for one's knees. Each day I walk in the garden and it brings me pleasure; there is a gate, but it is always shut. Leaning on a stick, I wander and rest, and now and then lift my head to gaze far away. The clouds drift out of the hills without intent; the birds, tired of flying, know to come home. The light grows dim as the sun begins to set, and I linger, my hand on a solitary pine. Home again: let me end my dealings and break off my travels. The world and I have gone our separate ways; why should I harness my carriage again, and what would I seek? I delight in the heartfelt talk of my family, and find pleasure in my zither and my books to drive away care. The farmers tell me that spring has come, and there will be work in the western fields. Sometimes I call for a covered cart, sometimes I row a single boat. Now winding through a deep valley, now climbing over the rough hills. The trees are glad and burst into bloom, the springs begin to trickle and flow. I rejoice that the ten thousand things have found their season, and feel that my own life is moving towards its rest. Enough. How much longer can this body stay lodged in the world? Why not let the heart decide whether to stay or go? Why hurry anxiously? Where would I go? Wealth and rank are not what I want, and the land of the gods cannot be hoped for. On a fine morning I go out alone, or plant my staff and weed the soil. I climb the eastern hill and whistle freely; I look down on the clear stream and compose poems. So I will ride the great change to the end, and delight in what heaven has given. What is there to doubt?