Morning dew clouds the flowers, Near yet far as the ends of the earth, The human path is like the twists of the Yellow River, Ultimately flowing eastward. Eight thousand years of aged jade, One night of withered glory, Ask the azure heavens, why this life? Where the wind blew last night, Who counts the fallen petals? Across ninety thousand miles of sky, Playing with shadows in the wind, Who shares this with me? A thousand autumns under the northern stars, The Jade Palace feels the cold bitterness, Not like immortal companions, A hundred years in the rivers and lakes.