People assist me in mounting my horse because I have lingering effects from
the wine I drank. The morning wind fails to awaken me. The green ceramic
shingles and red eaves are reflected in the winding and shimmering water. Among
the hanging willow trees, I suddenly find a ferry crossing. Years ago, I wrote a
poem on this decayed wall. Now the poem is covered with spiders' webs. The black
ink is overgrown with green moss. In my memory, the intervening years rush by
like water. Having lingered for a long time, I heave a long sigh. Let bygones be
bygones. I never ask Qiong Yang 1 about the past events of Jiang-ling
City. The old song "Wei City" is so sad that it furrows one's eyebrows. Who
wants to listen to it? If my girlfriend were in front my wine cup now, she would
care for me with deep love. Why is it necessary to have a sad song? When I think
of my girlfriend, my tears fall even before the song is finished.
Qiong Yang was a knowledgeable man. A poem written by Ju-yi Bai says, "I
sill have Qiong Yang./ He would be a good choice to ascends Eastern Mountain and
accompany Mr. Xie."