English Rendering
Gone with yellow chrysanthemums last year,
You come back when cicada's song I hear.
Your soughing wakes me from dreams at midnight,
A year's wrinkles are seen in mirror bright.
Steeds missing frontier grass with bristles rise;
Eagles longing for clouds open sleepy eyes.
I'll gaze my fill into the boundless sky;
Though ill, for you I'll mount the tower high.
