游子吟遊子吟
cí mǔ慈母shǒu手zhōng xiàn中线，
yóu zǐ游子shēn shang身上yī衣。
lín xíng临行mì mì密密féng缝，
yì意kǒng恐chí chí迟迟guī归。
shéi谁yán言cùn寸cǎo草xīn心，
bào报dé得sān chūn三春huī晖。
Line by line
- 慈母手中线，慈母手中線， Thread in a loving mother’s hand,
- 游子身上衣。遊子身上衣。 the coat on her wandering son’s back.
- 临行密密缝，臨行密密縫， Before he goes she sews it stitch on tight stitch,
- 意恐迟迟归。意恐遲遲歸。 fearing he will be slow to return.
- 谁言寸草心，誰言寸草心， Who says the heart of an inch-tall blade of grass
- 报得三春晖。報得三春暉。 can ever repay three springs of sunlight?
The poet & the story
Meng Jiao (751–814) failed the imperial examinations twice and only passed at forty-six; he finally got a minor post at fifty and immediately brought his mother to live with him. This poem carries his note: “written on welcoming my mother to Liyang.” A lifetime of guilt and gratitude, six lines long.
Interpretation
Thread in a loving mother’s hand, clothes on the traveller’s back: before he leaves she sews stitch after tight stitch, afraid he will be slow to return. The closing couplet asks: how could a blade of grass ever repay the warmth of three months of spring sun? It is recited on Mother’s Day across the Chinese-speaking world; 寸草心 — “an inch of grass’s heart” — has meant a child’s inadequate gratitude ever since.