Hovering Clouds

I

Dense, dense the hovering clouds,

Fine, fine the seasonable rain.

In the eight directions, the same dusk,

The level roads impassable.

Quietly I sit at the cast window,

Spring wine-alone I take it.

The good friend is far away

I scratch my head and linger on.

II

The hovering clouds are dense, dense

The seasonable rain fine fine.

In the eight directions, the same dusk,

The level ways are turned to rivers.

Wine I have, wine I have

By the east window I drink it idly,

Yearning for some one.

Neither boat nor carriage help.

III

The trees there in the eastern garden

Their branches now begin to blossom.

These are new attractions vying

Each to draw my feelings out.

Among the people is the saying,

Sun and moon are on the march.

Where to find me a companion

To reminisce about the past?

IV

Flap, fap the fying birdsCome to rest on my courtyard tree.

They fold their wings and take their ease

Calling out with pleasant voices.

Not that there is no one else

But it's you I think of most.

I long for what I cannot get

What sorrow do I harbor!