Feeling the spring, lush grass grows; yearning for the cosmos, grieving the distant, I climb the high terrace to pour out my sorrow.
The fair one tarries, unseen; I fear youth will swiftly pass.
Following Lord Bi in deep drink, I linger by the pond and woods.
Gathering fragrant herbs on northern isles, recalling cassia trees in southern lands.
How splendid are the cloud-touched trees, how deep and serene the ponds and halls.
Star Terrace's fine scholars, Monthly Critique's disciples.
Rejoicing at the Blue Bird's hour, welcoming the Fire Dragon's start.
Holding precious texts and jade zithers, sweet orchids and thoroughwort in bloom.
Then covering white duckweed, resting on green angelica.
Wine already drunk, joy not yet ended.
Striking the green bell, singing of clear waters.
Lamenting youth's fading, offering grace to the Jade Terrace.
Wishing to meet and convey my heart, to bind all fragrant plants in close embrace.
Why does my heart surge so, gazing at blue clouds only deepens grief.
Regretting the flying cranes of three mountains, remembering the white gulls on the sea.
Again I say: Immortals departed, youth decays; seasons fade, yellow birds mourn.
Wealth, honor, joy—how long? Vermilion halls, jade towers grow moss. White clouds, oh return!