伫倚危楼风细细。望极春愁，黯黯生天际。

草色烟光残照里。无言谁会凭阑意。

拟把疏狂图一醉。对酒当歌，强乐还无味。 

衣带渐宽终不悔。为伊消得人憔悴。

In solitude

I lean

Against the ruined tower.

Soft breezes blow.

But hope has reached its end 

In parting grief.

The border of the sky

Begets dark night.

The glow of hills:

The hue of grass

Have intermingled in the dusk. 

My thoughts to none are known 

As here I rest

Against the balustrade.

Shall I then madly drink, 

And sing before the wine?

The boundary of bliss

Is joyless still.

My girdle grows

Too spacious as my form Diminishes.

Until the end

My love will never change.

For you

I pine.

Alone, leaning on the high balcony in a soft breeze,

I gaze as far as I can, as parting sorrow

Darkly grows from the horizon.

In the fading sun that lights up the grass and the hills,

No one understands why I stand here, leaning on the rails.

I too would like to be reckless and try to get drunk, 

But, facing wine and song,

I find it dull to force myself to be merry,

My sash is getting looser and looser; still I don’t regret:

For her sake, it’s worthwhile pining away!

Waiting. Still waiting. Here, high on the tower, the spring breeze is soothing; but when I scan the horizon, I see and feel—a mounting gloom. Delusive is the beauty of sunset, of green meadows fading into a golden haze. Ah! Who could read the silence of a stranger musing at the balustrade?

Abandon myself to carousal? For all the wine and song, the mirth would be strained. I know I’m pining away, but love is worth the pain that comes after. 

I lean alone on balcony in light, light breeze; 

As far as the eye sees,

On the horizon dark, parting grief grows unseen.

In fading sunlight rises smoke over grass green. 

Who understands why mutely on the rails I lean?

I’ll drown in wine my parting grief,

Chanting before the cup; strained mirth brings no relief.

I find my gown too large, but I will not regret; 

It’s worth while growing languid for my dear coquette. 

For long I stand at the window in the gentle breeze

Staring into infinity at spring melancholy 

Somberly growing on the horizon.

In the fading light, mist-shimmer on grass—

Who can understand why I lean, wordless, on the balustrade?

I am determined to be reckless, plan a drunk,

Here is wine, here is song.

But in forced mirth is no favor.

It doesn’t matter after all that my girdle grows looser—

She is worth being haggard for.