Yangzhou, a famed land, has many beauties
Among them, a fair one named Yue Zhen
Yue Zhen, in her early years, fourteen or fifteen
Could play the pipa, skilled in song and dance
Like a tender willow branch in spring breeze before the wind
Like a charming oriole with a hundred songs amidst flowers
Yangzhou, the imperial capital, has many famed worthies
Among them, a worthy named Yin Dechuan
Dechuan first wielded his brush in the imperial secretariat
His post was close, his fame high, he seldom went out
Sometimes he'd stroll beneath flowers and the moon
Upon seeing Yue Zhen, it was like meeting an old friend
The quiet courtyard, deep compound, was the worthy's mansion
Its gate was stern, admitting no ordinary guests
Behind a curtain, sitting occasionally, was only Yue Zhen
Tuning the pipa, the young master kept time
Once Yin Lang crossed the river and left
In the mirror, she lazily danced the lone phoenix dance no more
Morning clouds and evening rain constantly followed
They met again beneath Stone City walls
In second and third month, spring in Jiangnan
The whole city hazy, fragrant dust rises
Listening through the wall to a song
It was from the person in the worthy's mansion
Green window, embroidered curtain, dawn about to break
The dying candle flickers, incense curls lingeringly
Parted hearts regret the bitterness of too much feeling
The soft screen, the incense burner, all quiet and empty
Yin Lang last winter entered the Hanlin Academy
The lofty official quarters turned deep and remote
In the mortal world, longing to see him is impossible
Only towards Yue Zhen does he keep his old heart
I am ashamed, lowly and worthless, what am I?
Often feeling grateful for borrowed favor and light
My humble lane is desolate, the door just closed
Together they visit me beneath my thatched hut
I am by nature a mountain man, foolish and steadfast
At feasts and song gatherings, often without feeling
Ever since I first saw Yue Zhen
Until now, I've gained a name for madness
Yin Lang, Yue Zhen, listen to my words
How much time does the prime of youth hold?
Fine hours and lovely scenes, pursue them while you can
Don't let it be said that longing's bitterness lasts long