English Rendering
The Southern sky for miles and miles in autumn dye,
And boundless autumn water spread to meet the sky,
I gaze on far-off Northern hills
Like spiral shells or hair decor of jade
Which grief or hatred overfills.
Leaning at sunset on balustrade
And hearing a lonely swan's song,
A wanderer on Southern land,
I look at my precious sword long
And pound all the railings with my hand,
But nobody knows why
I climb the tower high.
Don't say for food
The perch is good.
When the west winds blow,
Why don't I homeward go?
I'd be ashamed to see the patriot,
Should I retire to seek for land and cot.
I sigh for passing years I can't retain,
In driving wind and blinding rain
Even an old tree grieves.
To whom then may I say
To wipe my tears away
With her pink handkerchief or her green sleeves?
