| 英譯： |
The peach blooms open on the eastern wall—
I breathe their fragrance, laughing in the glow
Of golden noontide. Suddenly there comes
The revelation of the ancient wind,
Flooding my soul with glory; till I feel
One with the brightness of the first far dawn.
$(One with the many-coloured spring; and all)$
$(The secrets of the scented hearts of flowers)$
$(Are whispered through me;)$ till I cry aloud:—
“Alas! how grey and scentless is the bloom
Of mortal life!” This—this alone I fear.
That from yon twinkling mirror of delight
The unreal flowers may fade; that with the breath
Of the fiery flying Dragon they will fall
Petal by petal, slowly, yet too soon,
Into the world's green sepulchre. Alas!
$(My little friends, my lovers, we must part,)$
And, like some unoompanioned pine that stands,
Last of the legions on the southern slopes,
I too shall stand alone, and hungry winds
Shall gnaw the lute-strings of my desolate heart.
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