This fleeting life, a waking dream, I sing to my qin by the blossoms' gleam. Let not the east wind wait in vai…
This fleeting life, a waking dream,
I sing to my qin by the blossoms' gleam.
Let not the east wind wait in vain.
I long for your letters, again and again,
And pray the years are kind and bright.
Though frost now settles in my hair like light,
It is to you I give my spring.