The Songstone

Returning every day from court, I pawn spring clothes. The river sees my drunken mien; my boozing debts mount up all over town. Men do not often live three score and ten. The butterflies go deep into the flowers, the dragonflies on wing among the drops. The passing time is always rushing hours; no time to know you: separation stops. 朝回日日典春衣 每日江頭盡醉歸 酒債尋常行處有 人生七十古來稀 穿花蛺蝶深深見 點水蜻蜓款款飛 傳語風光共流轉 暫時相賞莫相違

Posted together with some other much better translations of various poems at Perpwalk Who is more fair than she? She lives alone, an empty valley home. She was from a good family, but they’re gone since discord came to Kuan; her brothers killed; their high estate now dearth. It is a callous world that scorns distress! Hope gutters like a candle - her husband’s eyes have kindled on fresh-bought jade; as morning glory curls he sees new smiles, while old love cries unheard. The spring was pure in its mountain pools but darkened in descent. She waits – her maid may come from selling jewels with straw again for the roof She picks some flowers, no more for her hair The pine tree’s needles fall from her numb fingers. She forgets the cold - wearing a thin silk shawl she leans at sunset by a tall bamboo © Simon M Hunter 2010