Comments about Yuan Hongdao
Bright are the city walls of the capital;
Red-robed officials shout on broad streets.
There is a white-headed destitute scholar;
Hanging from his mule's saddle, sheaves of poems.
Clasping his calling card, he knocks on doors for work;
The gate keepers smirk at one another.
Ten try and ten fail;
Walk the streets, his face is haggard.
Always fear in serving the rich;
Sorry your flattery isn't quick enough.
Over an eye a black eyepatch;
Half blind, the fellow is old!
Bought his mantle to escape draft and taxes;
Now he's the head priest amid his ...