Classic of Poetry

The hare is slow and cautious; The pheasant plumps into the net. In the early part of my life, Time still passed without commotion. In the subsequent part of it, We are meeting with all these evils. I wish I might sleep and never move more.

The hare is slow and cautious; The pheasant plumps into the snare. In the early part of my life, Time still passed without anything stirring. In the subsequent part of it, We are meeting with all these sorrows. I wish I might sleep, and never wake more.

The hare is slow and cautious; The pheasant plumps into the trap. In the early part of my life, Time still passed without any call for our services. In the subsequent part of it We are meeting with all these miseries. I would that I might sleep, and hear of nothing more.