Reading at night, weary, the lamp's shadow dims;
From outside the house, a flute's sound—where does it begin?
The old neighbor plays the flute, his intent is joy,
But hearing it, my heart—why is it filled with sorrow?
As if speaking of life's parting pain,
At the ends of the earth, no way to return again.
Or as if telling of death's farewell,
Bones laid in yellow soil, buried beneath weeds' swell.
Like a shamed woman passing Zhaojun's tomb, a general defeated climbing Li Ling's tower,
Like Su Dongpo and Hu Quan exiled to Huizhou, Xinzhou, and lands beyond power.
The "Classic Meanings" and "Character Explanations" bewitched the exam halls,
The "Pavilion That Reaches Heaven" stands lofty, its height appalls.
The Yuanyou Empress Dowager, in death, bears slander of deposition's blame,
Empress Zhaoci, twice deposed, entered a cold Taoist cell, locked in neglect and shame.
The Prince of Jiyang, gone to drink Zha's water, met an unjust end,
Twenty-seven years later, the old traitor usurped power, defiling the public court he'd rend.
Clearly, vividly, these events are told,
Leaving my face ashen, like death's pallor, cold.
Not just Xiang Xiu's grief at Shanyang,
Mourning vainly for Ji Kang and Lü An, in sorrow lingering long.
All my life, I knew not music or tone,
But loved musicians playing tunes, their skill over wine I'd own.
Never thought tonight—what night is this?—
Jiang Yan's parting sorrows, both rhapsodies, all come to my eyes,
Like Lu Tong's tears, the toad devouring the moon, a grief that never dies.
My iron gut, stone lungs, shattered to pieces a hundredfold,
Startling nightmares, heedless of the child in the household.
By the wall, there happens to be wine;
I look and say, pour a cup of mine.
A single cup of weak wine cannot quell this great wrath and regret;
Better to be ignorant and foolish, snoring in deep sleep, and forget.
Soon the flute's sound fades to none;
I step out to view the empty courtyard—only stars and the moon are spun.