English Rendering
What happened in the parting, in my cups
in the west building, I cannot remember, waking
from a drunk sleep.
Dreams in the spring,
Clouds in the autumn.
It is easy to meet, and to part too.
The moon slanting through the window,
I lie sleepless. The pained screen
unfolds, at its leisure,
the verdant southern mountains.
The wine-stains on the clothes,
the words in the poem, line
upon line, drop after drop,
all speak of melancholy.
Even the red candle feels helpless,
in the cold night, shedding tears
for me, in vain.