I chant the Southern Verse on Poet-Mourning Day
Far, far from home; time flies away.
The pomegranate’s not so red as the dancer’s dress,
No one knows my distress,
My song ruffles the curtain none the less.
What can I do now I am old!
The sunflower’s smile’s congealed in eastern corner cold.
My cup is brimful of wine as last year,
I pour libation here,
Each drop would turn into a tear.
The poet writes this lyric in memory of Qu Yuan (340—278 BC) , patriotic poet who drowned himself on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month in 278 BC.