English Rendering
At dawn official drumbeats hasten the sunrise;
At dusk the booming drums call the moon to the skies.
When yellow willows put forth new buds in the town,
In tomb is buried the favorite of the crown.
The drums have boomed a thousand years, still shines the sun,
But ancient emperors of Qin and Han have done.
Your hair once black may turn white as reed flowers stand,
The drums with southern hills will ever guard our land.
Even immortals were buried in the sky,
The drumbeats and the water-clock will never die.
