English Rendering
This age discards scholars like weeds,
Cast to Xiang River's reedless shores.
Sunlight floods the seas—but who heeds
Stones that chime where no ear adores?
Plucked-wing birds on dead boughs cry,
Dipping, rising—mournful tune.
North winds spit clouds cold and dry,
Autumn's end—a barren noon.
Nobles still roam at their ease,
While we petty men must freeze.
Day by day our sorrows grow,
Nurturing grief none can know.
Let's drain this cup of wine we share,
Sing loud—though none will ever care.
Pity no musician stays
To string my verse in finer ways.
