I passed through the South of Yangzi
The face waiting at the turn of seasons, like a lotus ﬂower, blooms and wilts
Without the east wind, the willow catkins in March do not ﬂutter
Your heart is like the lonesome little town
Like its streets of cobblestones near nightfall
When footfalls are silent and the bed curtains of March not unveiled
Your heart is a little window tightly shut
My clattering hooves are beautiful mistakes
I am not a homecoming man but a passing traveler….
（Shiu-Pang Almberg 译）
(I go by the Southern Shore
The appearance waiting in the season is like the blossoming and unblossoming of lotus flowers)
The east wind refuses to come, and catkins of March hate to fly
Your heart is like a small lonely town
Just like the street of blue stones at eventide
No chirping of crickets, the spring curtain of March is not lifted
Your heart is a small window closely shut
My clattering hoofbeats are a beautiful mistake
I am no arrival, but a passenger
I pass by the southern river shore
Where your face beamed like a lotus flower, but no more…
The east wind will not blow on high,
The vernal willow catkins will not fly.
Your heart is like a lonely little town
Or a pavement untrodden at sundown.
Your vernal curtain not drawn aside,
Your heart with little window closed will abide.
You must have mistaken my footsteps for a home-comer.
But I am only a passer-by, a roamer.