| 英譯： |
To no avail you kept your yard-long blade,
They could not use your single ball of mud.
Your horse has gone back to its sandy plains,
You have come home to your native land again.
Once your sad flute played the Lung-t'ou song,
Spring ashes now filter our joyful wine.
Your baldric no longer startles wild-geese,
Your spur on fighting-cocks in your silken robes.
Long months have passed since you returned to Wu.
But do not fret, for you'll enter Ying again,
You're a peach-tree in flower, a blossoming plum!
Be sure that they will beat a path to you.
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