Thousands of willow twigs beyond my bower sway;
   They try to retain spring, but she won't stay
      For long and goes away.
 In vernal breeze the willow down still wafts with grace;
   It tries to follow spring to find her dwelling place.
 Hills and rills greened all over, I hear cuckoos sing;
   Feeling no grief, why should they give me a sharp sting?
 With wine cup in hand, I ask spring who won't reply.
   When evening grizzles,
      A cold rain drizzles.

Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 146-147.