The beauty of the scenery cannot sweeten
my bitter memories.
In the courtyard, moss spreads over the steps
despite the autumn wind.
My bed curtains hang down for days,
Since no one comes.
The golden sword has long been buried
And my ambitions have withered like weeds.
In the cool and still sky
the moon opens like a flower.
The shadows of my old palaces
Must now be aimlessly falling across the moats.
