It’s so pitiful to look at such a handsome man
Whose stature is so much lofty and haughty.
In springs and autumns he is not yet thirty,
But for acquirements and arts—all sorts and kinds.
With his bridle of gold, he chases around with knights;
With vessels of jade he gathers together with noble friends.
In the whole lot he has only one kind of fault:
He doesn’t transmit the light of the inexhaustible lamp.
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