In the southern village the boy who minds the ox
With his naked feet stands on the ox’s back.
Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows;
Through his broken hat the mountain rain pours.
長陂望若遠，隘巷忽相及。
兒歸牛入欄，烟火茆簷濕。
Arthur Waley
On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;
In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.
* * * * *
The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;
And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.