There are trodden paths under lovely trees—
The peaches and plums in gardens in the east.
When bean leaves drift about in autumn breeze.
The leaves begin to fall as life has ceased.
The pretty blossoms too have had their day;
The mighty mansions someday will be still.
I’ll ride a horse and soon be on my way
To live alone beneath the Western Hill.
It’s hard enough to keep me safe and sound
And harder still to protect my wife and child.
When chilly frost hits grass upon the ground,
The year will bring an end to things grown wild.
Under the beautiful trees paths have formed,
in the Eastern Garden—peaches, plum trees,
bean-leaves flying everywhere, in Autumn wind.
But from now on, everything withers and dies.
Blossoming flowers will one day shrivel,
Thorns and weeds will sprout in the courtyard.
Time to mount my horse, to leave it all,
and head for the Western Hills:
when you can’t be sure of your own security
how can you care for your wife and children?
Frost thickens the wild grass.
The year grows old—there’s no more left to say.
（吴伏生、Graham Hartill 译）
The eastern garden’s trodden way
Leads to blooming peach and plum trees.
But withered leaves are blown away
And drifting in the autumn breeze.
Bright flowers languish soon and fade;
With thorns the hall will be overgrown.
Leave the hall on horse and evade
To Hermits’ hill and settle down!
Hard to keep you from being lost,
Let alone your children and wife.
Wild grass will be covered with frost;
Soon will end the year and our life.