| 英譯： |
A frosty wind harries the wu-t'ung,
The crowded leaves stick wilting to the tree.
On the empty step one piece drops
With a crackle like a crushed gem.
'His night breath is spent', I say,
'Wang Shu has made his globe a meteor
In the blue void, resting on nothing,
Flying a course dangerous and hard to hold.'
I wake with a start, go to the door, look out,
Lean on the pillar, long my tears flow:
Grief and care have wasted the shadow on the dial,
Sun and moon are like a juggler's balls.
Back to the missed road, however far:
It is for you he stopped his dusty saddle.
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