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知道尽成悲咽。
只影而今，
那堪重对，
旧时明月。
花径里、
戏捉迷藏，
曾惹下萧萧井梧叶。
记否轻纨小扇，
又几番凉热。
只落得、
填膺百感，
总茫茫、
不关离别。
一任紫玉无情，
夜寒吹裂。
Immortal of Lute
Mid-Autumn
Nalanshinde
I throw suspicion
On the sky year after year,
For whom the moon waxes and wanes?
The autumn breeze animates the fragrance,
The bright moonlight being a blanket of snow.
With an anxious brow I fix my gaze
On the fine day and night,
That shows signs of distress.
Now my solitary shadow
Fears to look toward
The bright moon of long-ago.
In the flowers paths,
We played hide-and-seek,
Rolling down numerous leaves of the parasol trees.
Remember you holding the round fan with framed gauze,
To sense the weather changed.
But I have been simply granted
With the gamut of emotions,
So bleak and uncertain,
That has no bearing on separation.
For such as the flute to recall without remorse,
The bitter cold night has felt its heart-out modulation.
（吴松林 译）
