西风悲兮败叶索索，照陈根兮秋日将落。
仿佛兮梦与神遇，顾瞻九泉兮岂其可作。
俄有悲秋之羽虫兮，自伤时去物改，拥旧柯而孤吟。
四郊莽苍声断裂兮，久而不胜其叹音。
平生之梗槩兮欲萧萧而去眼，将绝之言语兮忽历历而经心。
谓逝者有知兮，何喜而弃此去也。
谓逝无知兮，谁职为此梦也。
凭须臾之不再得兮，哀此言之不予听。
回廊窈窕月皓白兮，无复曩时之履声。
擥平生之余制兮，芗泽其犹未沫。
虽飘飘其日败兮，吾不忍改其此佩。
愁薨薨其中予兮，如醳酒之不化。
欻别离之几时兮，谁与此夏日冬夜。
自我先兮一无穷，在我后兮亦一无穷。
六七十便了一生兮，何异木末之有狂风。
待外物而造适兮，固不若放之自得之场。
彼庄生之一缶兮，亦何异荀氏之神伤。
吾固知藏于天者至精，交于物者甚粗。
饮泣为昏瞳之媒，幽忧为白发之母。
忧来泣下不可安排兮，如孟津之捧土。
彼寒暑之寖化兮，天地尚不能以朝莫。
目茕茕而不寐兮，夜亹亹而过中。
虽来者犹不可待兮，恐不及当时之从容。
西风悲鸣啊，枯叶萧索作响，
映照着陈旧的树根啊，秋日即将沉落。
恍惚间啊，仿佛在梦中与神灵相遇，
回望九泉之下啊，逝者岂能再度复活？
忽然有悲秋的鸣虫啊，
自伤时节流逝、万物变迁，抱着旧枝独自哀吟。
四野苍茫，声音断续断裂啊，
久久不散，令人难以承受它的叹息之音。
平生的梗概啊，即将萧瑟地离开眼前，
临终的言语啊，忽然清晰地浮现心间。
如果说逝者有知啊，为何欢喜地抛弃此世而去？
如果说逝者无知啊，又是谁安排了这场梦境？
依靠那瞬息不再重得啊，
哀叹这些话无人倾听。
回廊幽深，月光皓白啊，
不再有往昔的脚步声响起。
整理平生留下的作品啊，
其芬芳光泽尚未消散。
虽然它们日渐飘零朽坏啊，
我也不忍心更改这佩饰。
愁绪纷乱在我心中郁结啊，
如同未发酵的酒无法化解。
忽然离别已多久啊，
谁与我共度这夏日与冬夜？
在我之前啊，时间无穷无尽，
在我之后啊，同样无穷无尽。
六七十岁便了结一生啊，
与树梢遭遇狂风有何差异？
依靠外物来寻求安适啊，
终究不如放任心神于自得之境。
那庄子的瓦缶之喻啊，
又与荀子的神伤有何不同？
我固然知道藏于天道者最为精微，
交接于外物者甚为粗疏。
吞泣是昏花眼目的媒介，
幽忧是白发生长的母亲。
忧患来临，泪水落下无法安排啊，
犹如在孟津手捧泥土（试图填河）。
那寒暑逐渐变迁啊，
天地尚且不能使其停留于朝夕。
目光炯炯无法入睡啊，
长夜漫漫已过夜半。
即使未来尚可期待啊，
也恐不及往昔那般从容。
The west wind grieves, withered leaves rustle and sigh,
Shining on old roots, the autumn sun will die.
As if in a dream, I meet spirits in trance,
Gazing at the Nine Springs—can they revive by chance?
Suddenly, an autumn insect sings in pain,
Lamenting time's passage and change, on old boughs alone.
The vast wilds' sound breaks off and strains,
Its sighing tone prolonged, unbearable to own.
Life's rough outline fades, about to vanish from sight,
Final words emerge, suddenly clear and bright.
If the dead have consciousness, why gladly leave this place?
If the dead know nothing, who crafts this dream's trace?
Relying on moments never to regain,
I mourn these words unheard, adding to my pain.
The winding corridor, moonlight pure and white,
No longer echoes footsteps of past night.
Gathering my life's remaining art,
Its fragrance lingers, not yet torn apart.
Though drifting daily into decay,
I cannot bear to cast this adornment away.
Sorrow swarms within me, dense and deep,
Like wine that will not ferment, in my soul to keep.
Sudden separation—when will it end?
Who shares this summer day or winter night, my friend?
Before me stretches an endless line,
After me extends another endless design.
Sixty or seventy years finish life's span,
No different from wild wind on treetops, brief as it can.
To seek comfort in external things,
Is less than freeing mind where contentment springs.
That pot of Zhuangzi, what does it convey?
No different from Xunzi's wounded spirit in dismay.
I know well what's hidden in heaven is most fine,
What interacts with matter is coarse in design.
Tears drink to dim the eyes' clear light,
Hidden grief breeds white hair, mother of night.
Grief comes, tears fall beyond control,
Like holding soil at Mengjin, an impossible goal.
Cold and heat gradually transform their state,
Even heaven and earth cannot their changes abate.
Eyes wide open, I cannot find sleep,
Night drags on past midnight, sorrows deep.
Though the future may yet arrive in time,
I fear it won't match past moments, sublime.
在自然周期中体认生命的消逝与追忆。
描绘秋日萧瑟之景，寄托对逝者的哀思。
本诗为骚体诗（楚辞体），押平声韵。
东山书院编辑整理