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?