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Confucius - An Officer Sets Forth His Hard Lot
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My way leads forth by the gate on the north;
    My heart is full of woe.
  I hav`n`t a cent, begged, stolen, or lent,
    And friends forget me so.
     So let it be! `tis Heaven`s decree.
     What can I say--a poor fellow like me?

  The King has his throne, sans sorrow or moan;
    On me fall all his cares,
  And when I come home, resolved not to roam,
    Each one indignant stares.
     So let it be! `tis Heaven`s decree.
     What can I say--a poor fellow like me?

  Each thing of the King, and the fate of the State,
    On me come more and more.
  And when, sad and worn, I come back forlorn,
    They thrust me from the door.
      So let it be! `tis Heaven`s decree.
      What can I say--a poor fellow like me?
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