Where Does My Sadness Come From?

Where does my sadness come from?
As autumn starts, suddenly it appears!
I want to describe it — hard to find the words;
mutely, I'll have to keep it to myself.
Not scrambling or striving, why should I fear age?
Not restless, complain of low position?
This is neither the impoverished scholar's lament
nor the sorrow of a man in exile.
If you say I'm longing to go home —
I've never left my home country behind!
If you say, " It's all this seeing off! "
My friends and loved ones are not apart from me.
I wished to say it's like the creeping vine,
but it will not wither in evening dew.
I'd also say it's like the mist or fog,
yet autumn wind can't sweep it away.
It stays so gloomy in my heart and eyes;
comes on fast but leaves me oh so slow!
You may ask, " How long is it
you've suffered from this sadness? "
In the past I lived by West Stream bank,
and still enjoyed the wonders of hill and river.
Now I've returned to the eastern garden,
and sigh with grief that plants and trees die out.
Living in retirement, who pays attention to me?
Only this sadness follows me everywhere.
Most people in the world are happy within,
still not tired of the pleasurable banquet.
But I alone must feel this sadness;
vacillating — what shall I do now?
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Author of original: 
Kao Ch'i
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