An autumn wind blows over the earth,
The grasses die,
Mount Hua becomes a sapphire shadow
In the chill of dusk,
Though I have reached my twentieth year,
I've missed my goal.
My whole heart sad and withered
As a dying orchid.

Clothes like the feathers of a flying guail,
Horse like a hound.
Where the road forks I beat my sword
With a brazen roar.
Dismounting at a tavern I shed
My autumn gown,
Wishing to pledge it for a jar
Of Yi-yang wine.

Deep in the jar I called on Heaven
No clouds rolled back,
The white day stretched a thousand leagues,
Cold and forlorn,
My host urged me to cultivate
Both body and soul,
Nor care at all if the vulgar crowd
Made mock of me.