Classic Poem

Behind the mountain I cultivated a garden and planted herbs and sunflowers;
In front of the cave I dug a pond for fish and stocked it.
On a single frame of purple vines, flowers cluster;
The rain is light and fine.
Sitting I hear the gibbons cry, I sing an old rhapsody;
Walking I see the swallows chattering, I recite a new poem
Since I have no affairs, I return to my library,
And close the wicker gate.