Climbing High

 Wind swift heaven high ape cry grief
 Islet clear sand white bird fly circle
 No edge fall tree rustle rustle down
 No end great river surge surge arrive
 10,000 li sorrow autumn always be a guest
 100 years many sickness alone climb platform
 Difficult suffering regret numerous white temples
 Frustrated now stop turbid drink cup


 Swift wind, heaven high, an ape's cry of grief,
 At the islet of clear white sand, birds circle round.
 Endlessly, trees shed leaves, rustling, rustling down,
 Without cease, the great river surges, surges on.
 Ten thousand miles in sorrowful autumn, always someone's guest,
 A hundred years full of sickness, I climb the terrace alone.
 Suffering troubles, I bitterly regret my whitening temples,
 Frustratingly I've had to abandon my cup of cloudy wine.

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