I ride yellow clouds, leaving the capital behind,
Hoist sail to advance, waves merge with mountains I find.
Sky long, water wide, weary of the distant trek,
Seeking antiquity, I reach the Platform's deck.
At Platform, a guest, my worries multiply,
Facing wine, I compose this Liang Garden song with a sigh.
Then I recall Ruan Ji's chant at Peng Pond,
And sing of green waters, raising waves grand.
Vast waves surge, obscuring my homeland old,
The road west is long, return cannot be controlled.
In life, understanding fate leaves no time for sorrow,
Just drink fine wine, ascend a high tower tomorrow.
Servant boys with flat heads wave large fans with grace,
In May, it's not hot, as if in autumn's cool embrace.
A jade plate of bayberries is set for you,
Wu salt like flowers, bright as snow, pure and true.
Hold salt, grasp wine, simply drink it down,
Don't emulate Bo Yi and Shu Qi's renown.
Men of old, noble and rich like Lord Xinling,
Now men plow and sow on Xinling's burial mound.
A ruined town, vainly lit by green hills' moon,
Ancient trees all vanish into Cangwu's cloud cocoon.
Where are the palaces of King Liang of yore?
Mei Cheng and Sima Xiangru left first, waiting no more.
Dancing shadows and singing voices scattered in green pool,
Only Bian River flows east to the sea, empty and cool.
Pondering this, tears soak my clothes,
With gold I buy drunkenness, yet cannot find repose.
Shouting "five white," playing liubo game,
Divided teams bet on wine, in drunken glow aflame.
Singing and chanting, my thoughts reach far and wide,
Like reclining on East Mountain, I'll rise in time,
To aid the common people, it's not yet late to stride.