许渊冲
The bignonia blooms / Yellow and fade.
My heart is full of gloom; / I feel the wound grief's made.
The bignonia blooms / Have left the green leaves dry.
Could I foretell what looms, / I would not live but die.
The ewe's lean; large its head. / Few can get what they wish.
Here and there, east or west. / Lead an inhuman life.