Xin Qiji | Ding Feng Bo – Reflections in Late Spring
In youth, spring tasted strong like wine,
with a flower in my hair I rode on horseback
and drank myself endlessly deep.
Now that I have grown old,
spring comes like the weariness after drunkenness.
Only this remains:
a bowl of tea,
the scent of incense
and a small room behind a lowered blind.
The wind has swept away the last flowers,
and still it does not cease.
Yet do not be angry with it —
for it was this very breath
that once opened the blossoms.
Who has ever seen
where spring departs?
Perhaps only the swallows,
who met it
in the orange light of evening.
少日春怀似酒浓，
插花走马醉千钟。
老去逢春如病酒，
唯有，
茶瓯香篆小帘栊。
卷尽残花风未定，
休恨，
花开元自要春风。
试问春归谁得见？
飞燕，
来时相遇夕阳中。
— 辛弃疾