The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.
The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.
The world is like a great empty dream. Why should one toil away one's life?
Since Life is but a Dream, Why toil to no avail?
Bears, dragons, tempestuous on mountain and river, Startle the forest and make the heights tremble. Clouds darken beneath the darkness of rain, streams pale with a pallor of mist. The gods of Thunder and Lightning Shatter the whole range.
Heaven is high, Earth Wide. Bitter between them flies my sorrow.