English Rendering
The bowers lost in mist,
Dimmed ferry in moonlight,
Peach Blossom Land ideal beyond the sight.
Shut up in lonely inn,can I bear the cold spring?
I hear at lengthening sunset the home-bound cuckoos sing.
Mume blossoms sent by friends
And letters brought by post,
Nostalgic thoughts uncounted assail me oft in host.
The local river flows around the local hill.
Should it flow to foreign lands and flow against its will?