The East Wall Is High and Long

The eastern wall is high and long, winding on and joining upon itself.

The whirlwind rises and sweeps the ground; the autumn grass is already lush and green.

The four seasons change and turn; how swift the year's end comes!

The hawk harbors bitter thoughts; the cricket grieves at being so pent in.

Wash away and set free the feelings—why bind oneself in knots!

In Yan and Zhao there are many fair women; the loveliest has a face like jade.

She is clad in robes of silk; facing the door she tunes a clear air.

How sad the sound of it! The strings are taut; I know their bridges have been drawn close.

My feelings stirred, I straighten my sash; I linger, murmuring to myself.

I wish we could be a pair of flying swallows, carrying mud to nest beneath your roof.