"Jiangchengzi" by Huang Tingjian
The willows in the West City make the spring soft, moving away from sorrow, and the tears are hard to hold back.
I still remember how sentimental I was when I returned to the boat.
What happened at the Biye Zhuqiao that day was that no one was seen and the water flowed empty.
The time is not reserved for young people, hate is long, when will you rest?
When the catkins are flying and the flowers are falling, I go upstairs.
Even the spring river is full of tears, endless flow, and a lot of sorrow.