It was a late autumn evening, cold and chilli. Sixty-three years old Tao Yuanming was seriously sick and feeling the death approaching again through the wicker gate. Born in a noble family, served as government officer, lived through death of two wives and retired into farmer’s life for more than twenty years, he lifted up the pen and wrote down the funeral oration for himself.
Self Funeral Oration
Tao Yuanming
The year of Ding-Mao (475 AD), the month of September. The days are cold, the nights are long; the wind is chilly, the air is desolate; swan geese are migrating southward, yellow grass and leaves are falling. The sojourner Mr. Tao is leaving the guesthouse for good and returning where he came from. Sorrowful and in grieved, tonight the old friends get together to pay the last tribute of sorrow. On the alter there are delicious foods and vintage wine. His facial color is fading and darkened, his mumbling voice turns hollow and distant. Alas, dead and gone! The universe is vast, the heaven is boundless; from which began the world, into which I came as a man. Since I came as a man, I was fated to be poor. The bamboo bowl and gourd ladle were often empty, in severe winter I shivered in flimsy summer clothes. And yet, joyously I draw water down the valley, blithely I carry firewood back home, while singing on my way. Day after day and night after night I passed through the wattled gate; springs and autumns pass unheeded I labored in the garden, weeding and seeding, breeding and raising. In reading simple books I found joy, in playing soothing zither I espied harmony. Winter time I basked in warm sun; summer days I bathed at cool springs. Diligently I worked sparing no efforts, relaxed was my heart at all times. Enjoy what is natural and obey what is destined, I am now running to the end of my lifetime. Yet it is this time of life what people all treasure, clinging to each day snatching to every moment in fear of non-accomplishment. Everyone desires to be embosomed while alive and commemorate after death. Whereas I have always been inclined differently, persisting in my own way. In imperial favor I saw no glory, and how could any earthly dirt contaminate me? Proudly and aloofly in my humble cottage, I reveled in drinking wine and chanting poems. Knowing destiny and understanding fate, I have nothing to attach to and I am leaving without any regret. Having attained such an old age, I am yearning for reclusiveness; now that I’ve lived out my days, what else is thereto hold me back? Change of seasons, lapse of time, after death there is no more life. In the morning arrived the in-laws, by night rushed in the close friends; to put my soul at rest, in the wilds my body buried. In gloomy darkness my ghost passes, in whistling wind stands my tomb gate. Shameful was the Song minister’s extravagant mausoleum, ridiculed was Wang Sun’s frugal grave; when the soul is fading in the void, it will drift far away! Around my tomb raise no mound and plant no trees, just let time pursue its usual course. Having thought little of glory while alive, why would I care about posthumous praise? Life is surely hard to trudge through, wouldn’t it be easier to cope with death? Alas dead and gone!
陶渊明：自祭文
岁惟丁卯，律中无射。天寒夜长，风气萧索，鸿雁于征，草木黄落。陶子将辞逆旅之馆，永归于本宅。故人凄其相悲，同祖行于今夕。羞以嘉蔬，荐以清酌。候颜已冥，聆音愈漠。呜呼哀哉！茫茫大块，悠悠高畏，是生万物，余得为人。自余为人，逢运之贫，箪瓢屡罄，絺绤冬陈。含欢谷汲，行歌负薪，翳翳柴门，事我宵晨，春秋代谢，有务中园，载耘载籽，乃育乃繁。欣以素牍，和以七弦。冬曝其日，夏濯其泉。勤靡余劳，心有常闲。乐天委分，以至百年。惟此百年，夫人爱之，惧彼无成，愒日惜时。存为世珍，殁亦见思。嗟我独迈，曾是异兹。宠非己荣，涅岂吾缁？捽兀穷庐，酣饮赋诗。识运知命，畴能罔眷。余今斯化，可以无恨。寿涉百龄，身慕肥遁，从老得终，奚所复恋！寒暑愈迈，亡既异存，外姻晨来，良友宵奔，葬之中野，以安其魂。窅窅我行，萧萧墓门，奢耻宋臣，俭笑王孙，廓兮已灭，慨焉已遐，不封不树，日月遂过。匪贵前誉，孰重后歌？人生实难，死如之何？鸣呼哀哉！
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