Poem on growing old
Wang Ao Chinese
The poem on this fan reads:
Regretfully, the work you gave me comes too late,
For no old tree can gain its youth again.
Alchemic mercury, crucible burned, has the science of long life,
Yet, in the mirror, my white hair already looks its age.
Features I’ve had all along, forget me now;
In the end, to whom belongs the passing of time?
Just as no one sees the lashes before his eyes,
So do men renowned in later times lean on those who have gone before.
—Translation by Marc F. Wilson and Kwan S. Song
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