How much regret,
In a dream last night?
I wandered back to my hunting lodge,
as in the past:
The chariots ran on like a stream
And the horses galloped like flying dragons.
The blossoms, the moonlight and teh gentle wind
were the joy of spring.
How many tears
On my face and cheeks?
I should not tell the secret in my heart,
Nor should you play the phoenix flute
while our eyes are still wet.
For that would be too much to endure.
