As flowers fall at the river city, memories come to me
As flowers fall at the river city, memories come to me;
at the Temple of Two Princesses I write of my old friend.
The noble one is no more, that Wang Wei among men!
And this Hsiang Hsiu grieves in vain to hear the long flute.
The fine grasses hold the mist —
feelings throb like a pulse.
A cool breeze blows the rain —
tears fall like threads.
For ten years, I have not walked the road to Hsi-chou:
how can I bear to open the box and read his old poem?
at the Temple of Two Princesses I write of my old friend.
The noble one is no more, that Wang Wei among men!
And this Hsiang Hsiu grieves in vain to hear the long flute.
The fine grasses hold the mist —
feelings throb like a pulse.
A cool breeze blows the rain —
tears fall like threads.
For ten years, I have not walked the road to Hsi-chou:
how can I bear to open the box and read his old poem?
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