Dreaming of Yüan Chēn

At night you came and took my hand and we wandered together in my
dream;
When I woke in the morning there was no one to stop the tears that
fell on my handkerchief.
On the banks of the Ch’ang my aged body three times has passed
through sickness;
At Hsien-yang to the grasses on your grave eight times has
autumn come.
You lie buried beneath the springs and your bones are mingled with
the clay.
I--lodging in the world of men; my hair white as snow.
A-wei and Han-lang both followed in their turn;
Among the shadows of the Terrace of Night did you know them or not?