Three days of continuous snow,
A bountiful year can be foretold.
The gloomy cold drives out miasma's poison,
Heaven's execution aids in its annihilation.
Flake by flake seeks the sleeves of garments,
Blossom by blossom piles on the eaves.
When it comes, it must be vast and boundless,
Upon reaching the ground, it turns fine and delicate.
Scattered and disordered, there's no way to sweep it,
Empty and void, it's not easy to grasp.
Streams become gurgling and rippling,
The wild scenery turns to dark indigo.
Washing the inkstone, ice and frost congeal,
Brewing tea, the aroma is sweet.
Travelers leave footprints behind,
Village elders stroke their beards and mustaches.
Only bewildered by its intermingling,
How could one loathe the freezing cold?
Pricy is the ointment for chapped hands,
Its force weighs down the tavern's curtain.
The desk is troublesome to tidy,
The bronze brazier reduces one's gaze.
Before spring, the willow catkins are delicate,
All night long, it steals the silver moon's glow.
Over the gorge, a waterfall hangs suspended,
On the garden fence, woven silk is draped.
Mountain light conceals beautiful jade,
Brine yields shaped salt.
Round as if pearls are split open,
Light as if swans and egrets are singed.
High, it seems like waves of arrows turning over,
Shattered, it is like thrown ivory slips.
Graceful, it leans especially on low bamboos,
Intimate, it further clings to reeds.
Silken ropes float over wells and valleys,
A precious mirror shines upon the dressing case.
A single hair blown rises first,
Grease applied naturally sticks.
Drooping branches bear many threads,
Puffed-up things are sharp as sickle blades.
Bright and beautiful, the poetic style is elegant,
White and hoary, like the host of a feast disdained.
Yi and Qi would be ashamed of such purity,
Zhi and Ning are equal in majesty.
Grasses and trees are mostly broken,
Buds and sprouts suffer bitter stagnation.
Moistened, though near a blessing,
Stained and defiled, severely injures integrity.
The Black Emperor allows hidden evil,
The Yellow People merely guard humility.
Vast and boundless, it applies powder and colors,
Withered stumps reveal sharp points.
Mountains and rivers, how could they ever be mended?
Dust and mud gradually feel added.
The hungry and poor meet on the road,
Wealth and honor are separated by curtains.
Sated, children find it playful,
Sparse, it lets crows and sparrows peek.
Not yet should it fill pits and hollows,
Thus it desires to stand on mountain peaks.
Monsters and goblins are all bewildered and stunned,
Flood dragons also flee and hide.
Noble households create barriers,
Sitting in the market, one gains monopoly.
Rice and grain prices soar,
Bamboo baskets and gourds suffice for a contented life.
The four directions hang with dark clouds,
A single room blazes with fire.
Already weary of filling ditches and gullies,
Who then thinks of irrigating pots and cauldrons?
This feeling ultimately awaits telling,
But who is willing to come to the poor alley?