Beautiful orchids vibrant, wafting out aromas strong
If not picked and admired, is the orchid not done harm?
This day spirals on with time; why do they do such a thing?
I stroll all over the place, day by day and year by year
Snow’s powder drifts on downwards, buckwheat grows luxurious
If the seeds are uninjured, then I will not see you now
Buckwheat grows luxurious, buckwheat’s presence pervades here
A noble’s personal wounds, a noble’s personal mores

A setting sun of smelted gold, matched perfectly with sunset clouds
Where is the one I wait for, now?
Dyed-willow billows grow thicker, odes to blossoms the flute laments
How much time for spring is left, now?
The Lantern Festival visits, the weather clement and pleasant
How does no rain nor wind come, now?
Hither comes an invitation, by perfumed carriage and prized steed
Reject drink and poetry friends.
This central land has days of thrive, boudoir doors of ease aplenty
Recall, one must, the fifteenth day.
Graced with jade plumage are the pins, swirled with gold are snow-willow crowns
A gathering ribbon makes neat.
Haggard this is in present day, with windblown bun and iced temples
Too afraid to go out at night.
A better direction for now, beneath the hanging curtains drawn
Is to listen to laughs and words.

Nowhere do petals not fly in the springtime city
Willows bow against Eastern wind when food must be cold
At sunset, the Han palace sets candles on course ‘round
Their faint smoke wafting into the home of brothers five

From whose home does the jade flute’s notes come, flying through the dark,
scattering into the spring wind, echoing Luoyang full?
Heard within this night’s melody is the snap of branches;
in who are the nostalgic feelings of home not aroused?