Climbing High
Wind swift heaven high ape cry grief Islet clear sand white bird fly circle No edge fall tree rustle rustle down No end great river surge surge arrive 10,000 li sorrow autumn always be a guest 100 years many sickness alone climb platform Difficult suffering regret numerous white temples Frustrated now stop turbid drink cup
Swift wind, heaven high, an ape's cry of grief, At the islet of clear white sand, birds circle round. Endlessly, trees shed leaves, rustling, rustling down, Without cease, the great river surges, surges on. Ten thousand miles in sorrowful autumn, always someone's guest, A hundred years full of sickness, I climb the terrace alone. Suffering troubles, I bitterly regret my whitening temples, Frustratingly I've had to abandon my cup of cloudy wine.
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