Our whole land needs wind and thunder to revive it,
Sad it is when all horses are mute;
I beg Old Man Heaven to bestir himself,
And send down talents of more kinds than one.
Like a mighty flood is my grief at parting as the sun declined,
My singing whip points east to the far horizon.
But fallen petals are not heartless matter,
Transmuted into spring soil they will again nurture flowers.
Boundless my grief at leaving as the white sun sinks west,
And the poet points east with his whip to the far horizon;
Red blossoms, though fallen, have some feeling still,
Turned into mud in spring they want to protect the tree.
Boundless sorrows of parting seethe,
in the white beams of the setting sun.
The moment I turn my singing whip eastward,
I find myself already on the border of the sky.
The red flowers, lying on the ground,
Are the things without a heart!
When they are transformed into spring mud,
They nourish coming flowers with their blood!
“落红不是无情物”这一句，罗、杨两人都是直译，吴经熊却故意反译，译作“Without a heart”，故意强调出最后一句最后一个字的“blood”（血）——那也是原诗所无得。早就有人指出，这是翻译的浪漫手法，随意引伸，并非翻译的正宗，殊不信实。
In my youth I felt more intensely than my fellows,
Sang or wept for no reason, and wrote nothing that was untrue;
A man, forced to play the fool or resort to cunning,
I become a child at heart again in my dreams.
刘德爵的英语如下（刊“Sitting Up At Night And other Chinese Poems”一书）：
A subtle state of mind is difficult to arrest,
Its stay is only of short duration.
Language cannot fix meaning,
in immense space my thoughts afloat.
After the aroma of tea has penetrated me to the bone,
The shadow of flowers climbs on my laps.
In eternity the moon peeps over the west pavilion,
For whom is she so patiently waiting?