• 《傷春》 The wounded spring
The bird cries; the flower falls; the spring has a hidden wound.
The man in old age, as he muses over the bruised flower, feels broken in spirit.
Green spring itself believes that there are those who pity its sadness:
Yet I fear that we, playthings of rouge and powder, must drift desolate all our life long.
I cannot tell whose love is strong, or whose is fickle.
Commonly a perverse fate betrays’ the rosy girl to heartless men.
To-day the butterfly is gone, deserting an open flower: on whom, then, can I rely?
Ah! My throat is stifled with sobbing.
When I think how the jade-jewel is shattered and fragrance buried, I cannot check the tears which fall from my two eyes.