English Rendering
The empty town's dawn horn resounds,
Through willow-veiled paths it winds.
On horseback, thin-robed, I shiver cold,
Surveying tender yellows and greens unfold -
All old friends from Southland, every hue.
In this deep hush, Cold Food Festival's due.
I force wine to the little bridge's lair,
Fearing pear blooms' fall will bring autumn's air.
Swallows dart, asking spring's retreat -
Only the pond lies jade in silent feat.
