Cao Cao once expanded his grand design,
In the north, he quelled the heirs of Tan and Shang.
He divined Ye and built a new capital,
Not merely as a lair for three cunning dens.
He planned to move the sacred tripods' site,
But swiftly came the parting incense will.
The setting sun leaves empty the silk drapes;
The final rites end with song and dance ceased.
Soon word came: above Chan and Luo streams,
The Azure Dragon Palace rose anew.
Four leaves never returned to the east;
Moss blooms, the imperial way now severed.
The trough prophecy finally proved true,
The hanging rice foretold an early doom.
A century of tumult and strife,
Follows the track of an overturned cart.
Mountains and rivers change their aspect;
Court and market bustle fade and rest.
White dew returns to the green wilds;
Vast and vague, the seasons shift anew.
A bleak wind blows through hempen sandals;
Phosphorescent fires drift, blood of war.
Leaves fall down from the Western Mounds;
Cold insects add to the mournful rustle.
Bones of those buried beside him then,
Horse-manes still ring the tomb in rows.
Tunnel steles toppled, strewn crosswise;
Inscribed texts long worn,残缺不全.
Silk beaters and pillar bases,
Chimera heads split asunder.
Pointing to this handful of earth—
Wise and foolish, how do they differ?
Endless, the Phoenix-Zhang waters flow;
Silent, the Sparrow Terrace moon shines.
For a thousand years, matching heroic souls,
Not yet turned to dust and ashes, lost.
In field and marsh, I seek old survivors,
Who speak of rise and fall, they say.
But I only hear the "Millet Song";
Scolding oxen, they plow without cease.