Double Ninth, Missing My Shandong Brothers
As a lonely stranger in the strange land,
Every holiday the homesickness amplifies.
Knowing that my brothers have reached the peak,
All but one is present at the planting of flowers
In a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering
Over the clear lake and white sand birds are flying homeward
Immensity of leaves rustling fell
The never-ending Yangtze river rolling on
I have come thousands of miles miles away, sad now with autumn
And with my hundred years of woe, I climb this height alone.
Ill fortune has laid a bitter frost on my temples，
Heart-ache and weariness are a thick dust in my wine.
To the Tune of Intoxicated Under the Shadow of Flowers
Light mists and heavy clouds,
melancholy the long dreary day.
In the golden censer
the burning incense is dying away.
It is again time
for the lovely Double-Ninth Festival;
The coolness of midnight
penetrates my screen of sheer silk
and chills my pillow of jade.
After drinking wine at twilight
under the chrysanthemum hedge,
My sleeves are perfumed
by the fragrance of the plants.
Oh, I cannot say it is not endearing,
Only, when the west wind stir the curtain,
I see that I am more gracile
than the yellow flowers.
To the Tune of Tsai Sang Tzu
Man ages all too easily, not Nature:
Year by year the Double Ninth returns.
On this Double Ninth,
The yellow blooms on the battlefield smell sweeter.
Each year the autumn wind blows fierce,
Unlike spring’s splendour,
Yet surpassing spring’s splendour,
See the endless expanse of frosty sky and water.