English Rendering
The dawn horn blows through the empty town,
Its wail drifting down willow-lined lanes.
On horseback, in thin robes—the chill gnaws deep.
I’ve seen all these golds and tender greens before—
Every hue an old acquaintance from Jiangnan.
In this stillness,
Tomorrow comes the Cold Food Festival again.
I force myself to bring wine
To her house by the little bridge,
Dreading the day pear blossoms all fall,
Turning spring to autumn.
Swallows dart past,
Asking where spring has gone.
Only the pond answers—
With its indifferent jade.
