This English version was translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The Chinese text is authoritative.
The Book of Songs (Shijing) says:
You say you long for rain, yet open an umbrella to avoid it.
You say you love the sun, yet seek the shade to refuse it.
You say you delight in the wind, yet close the door to leave it.
You say we will grow old together, and this is what I fear.
Plain translation:
You say you like the rain,
but when it rains you open your umbrella;
you say you like the sunshine,
but when the sunshine spreads,
you hide in the shade;
you say you like the wind,
but when a fresh breeze blows in your face,
you close the window.
I am afraid your love for me will be just the same.
Literary version:
You said the misty rain was faint, gazing far from the Orchid Pavilion;
later you gently gathered your swirling robes and deeply hid your rainbow garments.
You said spring was radiant, green sleeves and red fragrance;
later you shut yourself in the west tower and stood quietly by your beloved’s side.
You said the soft wind brushed lightly, and you lay drunk in thought;
later you shut the doors and windows tight, and drawn curtains turned to sorrow.
You said threads of love and tender feelings: how could they be forgotten?
Yet my eyes merely glance aside, and alone I turn to frost.
Li Sao version:
You delight in rain, ah, yet open the umbrella’s ribs;
you delight in daylight, ah, yet the woods screen the sun;
you delight in the wind, ah, yet the railing curtains rise;
you delight in me, ah, and my heart is devoured.
Five-character verse version:
Loving the rain, you still hold an umbrella; fond of the sun, you yet seek the shade.
When the wind comes, you shut the casement: Lord Ye startled by the Dragon King.
A few brief words are short; lovesick longing lingers long.
My love says he loves me; I dare not think on it too closely.
Seven-character quatrain version:
In faint misty rain the umbrella moves lightly; loving the sun, you come to rest beneath the trees.
Let the wind blow as it will, the windows shut tight; the heart I give you is always full of doubt.
Seven-character regulated verse, the grand finale:
In the third month south of the Yangtze the rain is faint; a silk umbrella lightly raised, a delicate fragrance.
The sun brings a gentle tipsiness as in a dream; I lean into the deep green to enjoy the shade.
Suddenly I hear the wind’s music reach the vermilion pavilion; brows lightly knit, I lock the jade-green window.
This longing you must not unravel, my love; I only fear the mandarin ducks of the brocade pond will be parted.
I wonder whether there is any other language in the world that, like Chinese, has such beautiful rhythm.
When we follow the crowd without a second thought in frantically learning English, Korean, Japanese and so on, could we not sometimes stop, turn around and appreciate our own culture? Could we not sometimes quiet our hearts and savour the special emotion that the Chinese language brings us?
