زيزحف (لي شانغ يين)

زيزحف (لي شانغ يين)

Cicada

Li Shangyin

High feeding has left you with no surplus,

You vent your grief and spend your cry in vain.

By the fifth watch, your song grows thin, about to cease,

While the tree stays lush and green, indifferent to your pain.

A petty official, I drift on like a weed,

My old home's garden lies overgrown and wild.

You, my friend, keep me most sharply reminded—

I too have nothing, my household nothing but pride.