A single day feels like three autumns, / So focused is my affection on you.
The morning breeze blows in early spring, / Around the house, magpie calls sound crisp and dry.
Is it not the intent of Creation, / To pity me, traveling companionless?
It clears up swiftly, hastening your return, / A shared laugh, with no difficulty at all.
Rising, I take my bamboo staff that transforms into a dragon, / To disperse the aches of my weary body.
Lifting my head to the clouds over Eastern Mountain, / A traveler speaks to me.
He says you ride a purple horse, / Very near, within ten li.
By the stream, the ancient pine embankment, / Willow waves, plum blossoms drifting away.
I hurry forth, my scarf and shoes falling loose, / To welcome you, wishing you peace and safety.
A radiant glow between your brows, / You glance at me with a bright smile.
You speak of ten thousand fierce tigers, / Pillowing on spears, lying in wait at the western pass.
The commander sits within the tent, / Flowered curtains, the quiet daylight leisurely.
The Shu region is a corner of the sky, / Where one can still eat heartily.
You bring forth again the poems of the many lords, / Each word like ice and snow, chillingly pure.
Probing deep into mystery and obscurity, / Aged phrases contending with perilous hardship.
Reading once, I sigh in deep amazement, / Reading again, it awakens my dull stubbornness.
Alas, the literary ambition of my whole life, / Has lost its banner on the battlefield of letters.
I hastily wipe my meager, tearful eyes, / To glimpse this vast ocean of your world.
To ride alongside you, how would I dare? / I am ashamed, falling short by hundreds and thousands.
Yet I can still supervise taxes and levies, / To earn money for buying wine.
Day after day getting drunk with you, / Singing loudly, easing long sighs.