Flying lights, flying lights,
I pledge you a cup of wine.
I do not know if the blue heavens are high,
The yellow earth is rich,
Lintels hung with coarse brocade
Of scarlet woof,
Sunlight fades the rich brocade,
Do not plant a tree into your garden !
Trees are bringing sadness every year.
Lonely sleep, the moonlight in our window.
Riding alone on Scarlet Hare,
Out of the gates of Ch'in,
To weep at Gold Grain Mound
Strumming his lute, high on a crag of stone,
Sits an immortal sylph flapping his wings.
White tail-plumes of a simurgh in his hand,
Hsi and Ho gallop their six steeds
Days and nights leave us no leisure,
Chasing the crow to Mount Yan-zi's bamboos,
Silk from Wu, paulownia from Shu,
Strummed in high autumn,
In the white sky the frozen clouds
Falling, not floating.
Long songs have split the collar of my robe,
Short songs have cropped my whitening hair.
The king of Ch'in is nowhere to be seen,
A cluster of emeralds
Piercing high heaven!
Over the Great River's swelling waves
Spirits trail their mist.
An autumn wind blows over the earth,
The grasses die,
Mount Hua becomes a sapphire shadow
In the chill of dusk,