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Song of the Oriole: Written on Parting
English Poetic Translation
Lingering winter cold still taunts a hangover,
I bar the carved aloeswood doors.
Swallows arrive late, darting toward the western wall,
whispering that spring has grown weary and old.
Painted boats drift past the Pure Brightness festival,
while clear mists linger among the ancient palace trees.
I ponder my rootless wandering, blown by the wind
into weightless fluff of willow down.
For ten years around the West Lake,
I tethered my horse by willows, chasing soft mists and fragrant dust.
Tracing crimson ripples up fairy streams,
where maids would steal away with secret missives.
Leaning on silver screens, spring stretches wide while dreams stay narrow;
shed petals grow damp, and silk robes muffle old refrains.
Dusk empties the dike; I watch the fading sun
leave everything to hovering gulls and egrets.
Quiet orchids age and fade, fragrant grasses sprout anew,
while I remain a stranger in this watery realm.
Returning after parting, the Six Bridges offer no news;
years wither like fallen blossoms—
jade buried, fragrance lost beneath the driving storms.
Long waves envy bright eyes, distant peaks shame dark brows;
a lone fishing lamp casts its shadow on the river where I stay,
recalling past days at the ferry of Taogen.
Green chambers linger in memory;
upon parting, we inscribed verses on crumbling walls,
the tear-stained ink now dimmed by dust.
From the high pavilion, I gaze to the horizon
where endless grass meets the sky,
the chill wind brushing my hemp-cloth robes.
I secretly count the stains of parting tears and old vows
still clinging to the thin silk handkerchief—
the phoenix lost, the broken luan too weary to dance.
Eagerly I seek to write of lifelong sorrows,
letters sent across vast seas where wild geese drown in mist,
my idle longing strummed against the weeping zither's bridge.
Heartbroken, a thousand miles south of the river,
I summon once more these mournful strains:
wandering soul, do you still linger here?
I bar the carved aloeswood doors.
Swallows arrive late, darting toward the western wall,
whispering that spring has grown weary and old.
Painted boats drift past the Pure Brightness festival,
while clear mists linger among the ancient palace trees.
I ponder my rootless wandering, blown by the wind
into weightless fluff of willow down.
For ten years around the West Lake,
I tethered my horse by willows, chasing soft mists and fragrant dust.
Tracing crimson ripples up fairy streams,
where maids would steal away with secret missives.
Leaning on silver screens, spring stretches wide while dreams stay narrow;
shed petals grow damp, and silk robes muffle old refrains.
Dusk empties the dike; I watch the fading sun
leave everything to hovering gulls and egrets.
Quiet orchids age and fade, fragrant grasses sprout anew,
while I remain a stranger in this watery realm.
Returning after parting, the Six Bridges offer no news;
years wither like fallen blossoms—
jade buried, fragrance lost beneath the driving storms.
Long waves envy bright eyes, distant peaks shame dark brows;
a lone fishing lamp casts its shadow on the river where I stay,
recalling past days at the ferry of Taogen.
Green chambers linger in memory;
upon parting, we inscribed verses on crumbling walls,
the tear-stained ink now dimmed by dust.
From the high pavilion, I gaze to the horizon
where endless grass meets the sky,
the chill wind brushing my hemp-cloth robes.
I secretly count the stains of parting tears and old vows
still clinging to the thin silk handkerchief—
the phoenix lost, the broken luan too weary to dance.
Eagerly I seek to write of lifelong sorrows,
letters sent across vast seas where wild geese drown in mist,
my idle longing strummed against the weeping zither's bridge.
Heartbroken, a thousand miles south of the river,
I summon once more these mournful strains:
wandering soul, do you still linger here?
Classical Chinese & Pinyin
殘寒正欺病酒，掩沈香繡戶。
燕來晚、飛入西城，似說春事遲暮。
畫船載、清明過卻，晴煙冉冉吳宮樹。
念羈情遊蕩，隨風化爲輕絮。
十載西湖，傍柳繫馬，趁嬌塵軟霧。
溯紅漸、招入仙溪，錦兒偷寄幽素。
倚銀屏、春寬夢窄，斷紅溼、歌紈金縷。
暝堤空，輕把斜陽，總還鷗鷺。
幽蘭旋老，杜若還生，水鄉尚寄旅。
別後訪、六橋無信，事往花委，瘞玉埋香，幾番風雨。
長波妒盼，遙山羞黛，漁燈分影春江宿，記當時、短楫桃根渡。
青樓彷佛，臨分敗壁題詩，淚墨慘澹塵土。
危亭望極，草色天涯，吹鬢侵半苧。
暗點檢、離痕歡唾，尚染鮫綃，鳳迷歸，破鸞慵舞。
殷勤待寫，書中長恨，藍霞遼海沈過雁，漫相思、彈入哀箏柱。
傷心千里江南，怨曲重招，斷魂在否。
燕來晚、飛入西城，似說春事遲暮。
畫船載、清明過卻，晴煙冉冉吳宮樹。
念羈情遊蕩，隨風化爲輕絮。
十載西湖，傍柳繫馬，趁嬌塵軟霧。
溯紅漸、招入仙溪，錦兒偷寄幽素。
倚銀屏、春寬夢窄，斷紅溼、歌紈金縷。
暝堤空，輕把斜陽，總還鷗鷺。
幽蘭旋老，杜若還生，水鄉尚寄旅。
別後訪、六橋無信，事往花委，瘞玉埋香，幾番風雨。
長波妒盼，遙山羞黛，漁燈分影春江宿，記當時、短楫桃根渡。
青樓彷佛，臨分敗壁題詩，淚墨慘澹塵土。
危亭望極，草色天涯，吹鬢侵半苧。
暗點檢、離痕歡唾，尚染鮫綃，鳳迷歸，破鸞慵舞。
殷勤待寫，書中長恨，藍霞遼海沈過雁，漫相思、彈入哀箏柱。
傷心千里江南，怨曲重招，斷魂在否。
Philological Direct Translation
Lingering cold just bullies wine-sickness,
I close the aloeswood embroidered doors.
Swallows come late, flying into the western city,
seemingly speaking of spring matters late and declining.
Painted boats carry, Qingming having passed,
clear mists rising slowly among Wu palace trees.
Thinking of my wandering traveler's emotions,
transformed by the wind into light willow catkins.
For ten years at the West Lake,
by the willows tethering horses, chasing tender dust and soft mist.
Tracing red petals gradually, beckoning into fairy streams,
brocade maids secretly sending hidden messages.
Leaning against silver screens, spring is wide but dreams are narrow,
broken red damp, song sashes of golden thread.
Dusk dikes empty, lightly holding the slanting sun,
all returned to gulls and egrets.
Quiet orchids turn old,
docong grasses grow again,
in the water country still lodging as a traveler.
After parting, visiting the Six Bridges with no news,
affairs past as flowers wither,
jade buried and fragrance entombed,
how many times of wind and rain.
Long waves envy bright glances, distant mountains feel ashamed of dark brows,
fishing lamps divide their shadows on the spring river where I lodge,
remembering at that time, short oars at Taogen ferry.
Green towers appearing vaguely,
at parting on ruined walls writing poems,
tear-ink dim in the dust.
Towers high, gazing to the utmost,
grass color at the edge of the sky,
wind blowing temples against half hemp garments.
Secretly checking, parting traces and joyful saliva,
still staining the shark-silk handkerchief,
phoenix lost its return, broken luan lazy to dance.
Earnestly waiting to write,
long regrets within letters,
pink clouds and vast seas where passing wild geese sink,
idle longing, strumming into the sad zither bridge.
Heartbreaking thousand miles south of the river,
lamenting tune summoned once more,
broken soul, are you still there?
I close the aloeswood embroidered doors.
Swallows come late, flying into the western city,
seemingly speaking of spring matters late and declining.
Painted boats carry, Qingming having passed,
clear mists rising slowly among Wu palace trees.
Thinking of my wandering traveler's emotions,
transformed by the wind into light willow catkins.
For ten years at the West Lake,
by the willows tethering horses, chasing tender dust and soft mist.
Tracing red petals gradually, beckoning into fairy streams,
brocade maids secretly sending hidden messages.
Leaning against silver screens, spring is wide but dreams are narrow,
broken red damp, song sashes of golden thread.
Dusk dikes empty, lightly holding the slanting sun,
all returned to gulls and egrets.
Quiet orchids turn old,
docong grasses grow again,
in the water country still lodging as a traveler.
After parting, visiting the Six Bridges with no news,
affairs past as flowers wither,
jade buried and fragrance entombed,
how many times of wind and rain.
Long waves envy bright glances, distant mountains feel ashamed of dark brows,
fishing lamps divide their shadows on the spring river where I lodge,
remembering at that time, short oars at Taogen ferry.
Green towers appearing vaguely,
at parting on ruined walls writing poems,
tear-ink dim in the dust.
Towers high, gazing to the utmost,
grass color at the edge of the sky,
wind blowing temples against half hemp garments.
Secretly checking, parting traces and joyful saliva,
still staining the shark-silk handkerchief,
phoenix lost its return, broken luan lazy to dance.
Earnestly waiting to write,
long regrets within letters,
pink clouds and vast seas where passing wild geese sink,
idle longing, strumming into the sad zither bridge.
Heartbreaking thousand miles south of the river,
lamenting tune summoned once more,
broken soul, are you still there?