Under the blue mountain, my boat and I meandered along the green water.
Until the river bank widens at low tide, and no wind blows my lonely sail.
... the night now gives way to the ocean of the sun, and Jiang Chunren was in the old year.
I can finally send my messenger, the wild goose, back to Luoyang.
The foot of my bed is shining so brightly. Is there frost already?
I looked up at the moon and looked down, feeling nostalgic.
The drums of the defenders cut off people's communication, and a lonely goose was singing in autumn in the frontier.
The dew turns to frost tonight, and the moonlight at home is bright!
Brothers are scattered, and no one can ask about life and death.
Letters sent to Luoyang city are often not delivered, and wars often do not stop.
A drizzling rain falls like tears on the Mourning Day; The mourner's heart is going to break on his way.