Yanling had a treasured sword,
Worth a thousand pieces of gold.
Touring states, observing customs,
Secretly pledged to an old friend deep.
Returning, hung it on the grave pine,
Through ages, his heart is known.
Cowards are moved by his noble deed,
Heroes stirred, their collars wet.
Bao Shuya recommended Guan Zhong,
At one move, made him Qi's minister.
If that man had no good friend,
How could he hope for high clouds?
Facing wealth, he did not grab,
Yielding his share, firmly declined.
Later ages praise his virtue,
His heroic spirit, hard to match.
If friendship is like this,
Can the way of friends be lost?
I praise your soaring talent,
Overshadowing men of the time.
Your writings lift declining waves,
Your virtue tops all human norms.
Choosing to dwell in this place,
Sharing a well, we became neighbors.
Clear zither played with cloud and moon,
Fine wine cheered winter and spring.
My shallow virtue met rejection,
Neglected like discarded dust.
Heroes before transformation,
Since old times, face many hardships.
Others may grow distant,
Your feeling should stay close.
Why must we live apart,
How far are we separated?
Whirlwinds blow clouds and rainbows,
Blinding eyes, we cannot speak.
I cast a pearl, hope for return,
You grip your sword, fear a clash.
I long to pick fragrant orchids,
Wish to give, but thorns and isles block.
Deep sorrow makes my heart drunk,
Accumulated grief, tears like rain.
I wish to borrow east wall's light,
Let its leftover glow shine on a poor girl.