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King of Lanling: Willows by the Sui Embankment
Through veiling mists, green threads prolong.
Along the ancient Sui canal, how oft have they
Brushed drifting down and swept the travelers on their way.
I climb the heights and gaze toward home,
Who knows the sorrow of a weary guest who loves to roam?
Along the post-house road through changing years,
So many tender boughs are snapped through parting tears.
I idly seek my former trace,
Where mournful strings keep pace with wine in every place,
Beneath the lamps that light the parting feast.
Pear blossoms and the elm-wood fires have not decreased
The chill of festival days.
With favoring wind that speeds the boat and warms the watery ways,
I look behind: the post-stations already fade from sight.
She whom I watch dwells in the northern night.
Deep desolation fills my breast,
Where grievances unnumbered rest.
The parting shores curve round and fade away,
While ferry outposts stand in silent gray.
The slanting sun sinks slow, and spring is vast and deep;
I call to mind the moonlit lodge where hands would meet,
The flute notes floating o'er the dewy bridge so fair.
Lost in deep thought of what was once so rare,
As if within a dream, my silent tears drop there.
煙裏絲絲弄碧。
隋堤上、曾見幾番,拂水飄綿送行色。
登臨望故國。
誰識。
京華倦客。
長亭路,年去歲來,應折柔條過千尺。
閒尋舊蹤跡。
又酒趁哀弦,燈照離席。
梨花榆火催寒食。
愁一箭風快,半篙波暖,回頭迢遞便數驛。
望人在天北。
悽惻。
恨堆積。
漸別浦縈迴,津堠岑寂。
斜陽冉冉春無極。
念月榭攜手,露橋聞笛。
沈思前事,似夢裏,淚暗滴。
In mist, threads upon threads play with emerald.
On the Sui embankment, once seen how many times, brushing water and drifting down cotton to send off travelers' parting looks.
Ascending to look out toward the native state.
Who recognizes?
A weary guest in the capital.
Long pavilion road, years going and years coming, surely tender twigs broken exceeding a thousand feet.
Leisurely seeking old tracks.
Again wine chases sorrowful strings, lamps illuminate parting feasts.
Pear blossoms and elm fires urge the Cold Food festival.
Grieving an arrow's wind is swift, half a pole's waves are warm, turning back, distant places become immediately several post-stations.
Watching the person in the northern sky.
Desolate and sorrowful.
Resentment piles up.
Gradually parting shores wind and return, ferry beacons are desolate.
Slanted sun slowly, spring without limit.
Remembering moon pavilions hand in hand, dew bridges hearing flutes.
Deeply thinking on past matters, like within a dream, tears secretly drip.