Spring flowers and autumn leaves,
will they never end?
How many things have happened?
In this little tower, last night,
the east wind blew once more.
Can I bear to look back at the old country
in the bright moon?
The carved hand-rails and marble steps
must still be there,
But not my youthful cheeks.
How much sadness can I bear?
As much as an eastward-flowing river filled with
spring water.
