The first one? Spring
The melting mud and sand warm the river bank, and the ice and grass are slightly cold.
A little pink smile on the branches, ten miles of spring breeze intoxicating the flowers.
The second one? Summer
The silver vat is half broken, the book is half open, and the bamboo paper turned sideways is white.
The beaded curtain swayed gently, but no one came, but I saw the clear rain playing with the moss.
The third? Autumn
Half of the river is full of bright moon and half of the river is autumn, thousands of miles away, flying giants rest on the bow of the boat.
Thousands of persimmons come to report peace, a kind of lovesickness and two sorrows.
The fourth one? Winter
The new wind blows the white heads of the snow-capped mountains, and the ice cliffs of hundreds of feet lock the boat.
The smoke from the fishermen’s kitchen warms the bright moon, and Li Weng fishes alone at the mouth of the cold river.