Green Jade Cup Written on a Hill House Leaves fallen from the creekside trees, Run riot in the breeze; I see autumn in yellow chrysanthemums shy. How can I clean my dusty sleeves? Horse hoofs seem lost, In heavy frost, The village on lonely pathway grieves, Cocks crow at the waning moon in the sky.
Rank and fame are not won, By the hard-working one. Ten years later I come again, slow I remain. Do not dance but drink your cup dry. The splendor of six dynasties is gone in vain With the running water of the stream. I feel on earth all like a dream.