Classic Poem

I'm forty-four now;
both eyes are beginning to blur.
I can't distinguish people even at very close range;
it's as if a dense spring mist were blocking the view.
I consulted a physician. The physician said:
Your liver is the problem, it's not what it should be;
or perhaps when you were young,
you read too much in the shadow of the lamp.
Hearing this, I clapped my hands and laughed outright.
You're not a very skilled physician, I said.
People with ears want to hear;
those who can't hear are deaf.
People with eyes want to see;
those who can't see are blind.
I wanted to see the king,
but I had no access to the nine-gate palace.
I wanted to see men of rank in ceremonial cloth of gold,
but, dressed in hemp, I couldn't conceal my presence.
I wanted to see the peonies,
but only useless weeds grew verdant.
I never lived in a first-rate house;
in a hut in a mugwort field my hair turned white.
I never ate fine ceremonial food;
many's the time I missed a meal.
That's why my eyes are dim,
that's why they're bothering me as if veiled in hemp.
This is all the decree of heaven;
I can't cure it with medicine.
Who knows, it may turn out to be a blessing;
I may finish my days deaf and blind.