On the second day of the Second Month I walk by the river;
The east wind in the warm sun wafts the sound of pipes.
The flowers' whiskers and the willows' eyes are listless in different ways;
The purple butterfly and the yellow bee both seem to have feelings.
My thoughts return to Yüan-liang's well ten thousand miles away;
For three years I have been following General Ya-fu's camp.
The new rapids do not understand the exile's feelings,
But make a noise like wind and rain on the eaves at night.