From dawn to dusk I'm drunk, singing songs of myself,
lovesick with every new spring.
Out in the rain, there's a messenger with letters,
and under my window, someone with a broken heart.
Rolling up beaded blinds, I see mountains;
sorrows renew themselves like fragrant grass.
Since the day we parted, at your feasts
how often has the rafter dust fallen?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem