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Wind swift heaven high ape cry grief Islet clear sand white bird fly circle No edge fall tree rustle rustle down No end great river surge surge arrive 10,000 li sorrow autumn always sojourn 100 years many sickness alone climb platform Difficult suffering regret numerous white temples Frustrated now stop turbid drink cup |
Swift wind, heaven high, an ape's cry of grief, At the islet of clear white sand, birds circle round. Endlessly, trees shed leaves rustling down, Without cease, the great river comes surging on. Ten thousand miles in sorrowful autumn, always on the move, A hundred years full of sickness, I climb the terrace alone. Suffering troubles and bitter regret have turned my temples white, Frustratingly I've had to abandon my cup of cloudy wine. |