Memories ache on, same as yesterday,
and the last winter moon's gone dark.
It startles me, the year suddenly new
and I alone, bitter about growing old.
The lake's turning green, ice melting.
White plum and willow sway. Exquisite
light returns morning after morning
and lasts, impossible to think through.
Translated by David Hinton, Classical Chinese Poetry: An Anthology,
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008, p. 227.