1

Fallen leaves are scattered by evening rain.
I sing and brush red strings alone.

Unmoved by heartless friends,
I go within, beyond the bitter sea.

Outside my gate rumble rich men’s carts.
By my pillow Taoist books are rolled.

Now in simple cottons, no more a guest of clouds,
No more green water and blue hills.

2

Too much pain to sigh alone:
How can I face the windy courtyard filled with the autumn moon?

In dark rooms, I hear the watch sound.
Every night, by my lamp, hair turning white.

translated by Geoffrey Waters