Those peach and plum blossoms in Luoyang’s east fly to and fro — on whose house do they land?
A woman of Luoyang bears looks fetching as she sees fallen petals, sighing long.
This year, flowers fall, colors fade. Next year, flowers will bloom again, and who will see?
Seen, I have, the pine trees cut down for coin, and heard, I have, of mulfields turned to sea.
Ancients haunt not the city’s east, modern folk still face fallen petals on the wind.

Year upon year, the flowers stay the same. Year after year, the humans always change.
A word for rosy-cheeked youths in their prime; have pity on half-dead, white-haired elders.
This white-haired gent is truly pitiful; once, he was a fine, rosy-cheeked youth, too.
Beneath a tree were sons and grandsons, crisp songs and fun dances ‘fore falling flowers.
Supervisor’s pond terrace is bedecked, general’s tower is painted with gods.
Once one lies ill with no friends, with whom can the joy of three spring festivals be shared?
For how long may youth and beauty last? In one tick, white hair becomes a mess of silk.
Yet, looking at song and dance from olden times, only birds cry in lament at dusk.

Original Text
洛阳城东桃李花，飞来飞去落谁家？
洛阳女儿惜颜色，行逢落花长叹息。
今年花落颜色改，明年花开复谁在？
已见松柏摧为薪，更闻桑田变成海。
古人无复洛城东，今人还对落花风。
年年岁岁花相似，岁岁年年人不同。
寄言全盛红颜子，应怜半死白头翁。
此翁白头真可怜，伊昔红颜美少年。
公子王孙芳树下，清歌妙舞落花前。
光禄池台文锦绣，将军楼阁画神仙。
一朝卧病无相识，三春行乐在谁边？
宛转蛾眉能几时？须臾鹤发乱如丝。
但看古来歌舞地，唯有黄昏鸟雀悲。