Dare I, at my age, accept my summons, Knowing of the world's ways only wine and song?.... Over the moon-edged river come wildgeese from the Tartars; And the thinner the leaves along the Huai, the wider the southern mountains.... I ought to be glad to take my old bones back to the capital, But what am I good for in that world, with my few white hairs?.... As bent and decrepit as you are, I am ashamed to thank you, When you caution me that I may encounter thunderbolts.