Yong yu le:
In a Boat, Moved by the Past
Intact are the peach blossoms,
As always are the swallows,
But the spring sights are greatly changed.
The Master Liu of former days,
The Director Jiang who returned
Who can bear recounting past events?
Receding waters in the dying sun;
Dragons gone and swords vanished:
How much of heroes’ tears and blood!
Ah, eternal plaint
For rivers and hills like these,
Their grandeur cast away in a blink.
Before the White Jade Tower,
By the Yellow Gold Terrace,
Night after night only the bright moon remains.
Do not mock the weeping willows
Whose golden hue has now faded,
Or the lush plums that likewise have withered.
Flowing clouds of world affairs,
Flying catkins of human life,
All are consigned to the lost gibbon’s mournful sobs.
The western hills survive,
Their sad visage a gloomy kohl,
As though sharing one’s desolate grief.