English Rendering
Lotus blooms shed their fragrant powder,
Sparse plane trees cast their verdant shade,
In the courtyard, the hidden rain just ceases.
For no reason, I hug my shadow in this heartbreak place—
Still, I see fireflies flicker by the bamboo fence,
And hear crickets keen on mossy steps.
I accompany my guest once more on the westward path,
And ask, who now plucks the lute strings on the water’s face?
Most pitiful—this stretch of rivers and hills,
All given over to the weeping cuckoos’ cries.
I’ve long regretted our meetings were too brief;
Now, why must we part again in the west wind’s breath?
The islet chills, the mist grows faint,
The oars move, the man drifts far—
His distant boat, a leaf afloat in mist.
I imagine his lady, waiting long,
Leans on bamboo, sorrow threading her silken steps.
When he returns, they’ll drink together from jade cups,
Lower the beaded curtain,
And gaze idly at the bright, exquisite moon.
