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Precious Tripod Appears: Lantern Festival Memories
while tall banners thread through the bustling mart.
Beyond endless towers of song and dance,
fragrant dust stirs beneath dainty lotus steps.
Flutes fade as feathered dancers turn homeward bound,
heedless of the night guards' drunken shouts.
Why do the clamoring carriage ways suddenly halt?
Listen—a voice like Niannu's song ascends.
The elders still remember the Xuanhe days,
holding the bronze immortal while tears flow clear as water.
Turning again to gaze, the Shahe banks shine brilliant;
rippling lanterns connect proud noble estates.
Curtain shadows chill, weaving scarlet light into damask,
as the moon washes ten miles of lush vineyards.
We watch the passing throngs of immortals and wits—
who would dare shatter the bright mirror of memory?
Heartbroken for the children who rode bamboo horses, hearing mere tales of three thousand dancing fingers.
Waiting so long for spring to withhold its return,
that when spring finally breaks, one only longs to sleep.
Then, speaking by the lamplight, hands gathering the dark bun,
tear-pearls fall silently in the dark.
Even if one had once beheld the Rainbow Skirt dance in person,
this world and heaven alike are merely a dream.
踏月影、竿旗穿市。
望不盡、樓臺歌舞,習習香塵蓮步底。
簫聲斷、約綵鸞歸去,未怕金吾呵醉。
甚輦路、喧闐且止。
聽得念奴歌起。
父老猶記宣和事。
抱銅仙、清淚如水。
還轉盼、沙河多麗。
漾明光連邸第。
簾影凍、散紅光成綺。
月浸葡萄十里。
看往來、神仙才子。
肯把菱花撲碎。
腸斷竹馬兒童,空見說、三千樂指。
等多時春不歸來,到春時欲睡。
又說向、燈前擁髻。
暗滴鮫珠墜。
便當日、親見霓裳,天上人間夢裏。
Treading moon shadows, banner poles threading through the market.
Gazing endlessly at balconies of song and dance, rustling fragrant dust beneath lotus steps.
Flute sounds cease, appointing colorful phoenixes to return, not fearing the golden-mace guards shouting at the drunk.
Why do the imperial carriage roads, clamoring, suddenly halt?
Hearing the singing of Niannu rise.
Elderly folk still remember the Xuanhe era affairs.
Embracing the bronze immortal, clear tears flow like water.
Turning the gaze once more, the Shahe River is exceedingly splendid.
Rippling bright light links the grand mansions.
Curtain shadows freeze, scattering red light into brocade.
Moon bathes ten miles of grapes.
Watching those passing, immortals and men of talent.
How could they bear to shatter the bronze mirror.
Heartbroken at the children on bamboo horses, speaking in vain of three thousand dancing fingers.
Waiting so long for spring not to return, when spring comes one wants to sleep.
Then speaking of holding the hair-bun before the lamp,
Secretly dropping pearls of tears.
Even if on that day one personally saw the Rainbow Skirt feather coat, heaven and earth are within a dream.