| 英譯： |
AT the end of the third month, out of office and poor,
I went to my eastern neighbour in search of flowers.
Who was it wrote a farewell song to spring?
The brazen camels lament on the banks of the Lo.
South of the bridge are many riders on horseback,
The northern mountain is girdled with ancient graves.
While men are quaffing cups of wine,
The camels sit and mourn ten million springs.
Useless to toil away in this life of ours,
I's only a wind-blown candle in a bowl.
Tired of seeing peach-trees smile again,
The brazen camels weep as night comes on.
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