English Rendering
How deeply shrouded her courtyard had been,
the windows clouded with mist, chambers shut.
But see! The tips of willows, plum buds,
and a full Spring returned to the Moling trees,
as if for an aging stranger locked in J.K. City.
Who sings so softly of the moon and the wind,
of getting old too, and cut-off from honors, …
and no one pitying her, pallid and withering,
too glum for the festival lanterns of Spring,
unable to go out in the fresh snow fallen.
