| 英譯： |
SHUTTING the gates, I feel the autumn wind—
My loneliness is due to our long parting.
Beneath a white sky the great wilderness stretches,
A killing blast sweeps the wide heaven and earth.
Shining dew weeps over withered orchids,
Cry of insects sounds out night and day.
In my cold room the candle-stump burns dim,
My red silk curtains tattered by the wind.
I open my books to the old scent of rue,
Sing resentfully now your handsome face has gone.
For a hundred days we have not seen each other,
Bright flowers face in this bitter season.
Of all my brothers, who worries most about me?
I already have the letter you sent to me.
Clad in blue jacket, riding a white horse,
You send your drafts up to the Eastern Gate-towers.
In my dream we are laughing together—
Then I wake to a half-moon over my bed.
Endless my thoughts, like a bracelet on my wrist,
My sorrows run wild like spreading arrowroot.
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