How does Heaven tell the Northern Dipper that it’s spring,
oh, and point its handle back to the east again?
These streams roil up, oh, bluest green,
the orchids hang exuberant in all their red fragrance.
I set off to scale the heights,
oh, gazing far as the vastest sea of clouds.
Once my soul’s gone out, oh, it’s bound to break,
and tears will stream down my cheeks.
So I’ll sing to the clear wind and praise the dark blue waves,
the ancient lakes and rivers,
oh, how faint my heart and mind,
oh, floating on the spring wind,
Floating, oh, my thoughts unbound,
recalling days with you, my lord, the dusk unfolding.
Luxuriant foliage crowds the plains, oh, with its fine silk
threads,
and I love how the fragrant grasses look like the points of
scissors.
I lament that spring dwindles so fast,
and no moment of this regret is ever shallow.
How can the river bends and deep pools,
oh, bear to think their jade-like grasses will soon be gone?
I recall the two women of Xianbei who, forgotten, wandered
lost in love,
I sorrow for the two women of Xiang who drowned themselves for it.
Grief without limit, oh, my heart inseparable from all things,
my eyes stopped by this chaos of melancholy.
I am the woman of Wei, longing for her marriage bed,
I am the King of Chu, whose lover turned to mist.
Each time spring returns, oh, the flowers open.
Now the flowers are already spent, oh, and spring has
changed.
I sigh because the long river carries off the spring,
I say farewell to the waves vanishing on the Eastern Sea.
Spring does not remain, oh, already the season’s lost,
grieving and more grieving, oh, the sound of wind.
I wish I could hang a long rope in blue-green Heaven
to tie up this westward-flying sun.
There seems to be someone, oh, whose feelings are so close
to mine,
who travels south and west, in past and present time.
Whenever I see criss-cross of gossamer threads,
I make webs of spring sunlight to keep him here.
Sunk in songs, oh, of lamentation,
pacing, pacing, oh, grieving this parting,
seeing off this soon-distant traveler,
while the wild swans fly slowly out of sight,
drunken, sad, beneath the weeping willow,
only this one thin thread keeping us entwined.
I sigh, gazing after you, my friend,
tears cross my face, and I hate how my own spring has passed.
We cast long shadows in bright moonlight
as I see you off, my friend, to the edge of Earth and Heaven.