As winter enters this land of rivers and lakes,
    the snow is more than a foot in depth.
Even though my hat is made of bamboo
    and my coat is woven from straw,
This body’s warmth is also a debt
    we owe to our great king.

As autumn enters this land of rivers and lakes,
    even the fishes have become fat.
From a small boat, I fling my fishing net,
    and let it trail with the tide.
This body’s pleasure is also a debt
    we owe to our great king.

As summer enters this land of rivers and lakes,
    I find myself idle in my thatched hut.
Friendly waves that wash the shores
    are sent only by the gentle breeze.
This body’s coolness is also a debt
    we owe to our great king.

As spring enters this land of rivers and lakes,
    without reason I feel mad delight.
In festive mood, a banquet is laid
    of freshly caught fish and country wines.
This body’s leisure is a debt
    we owe to our great king.

The spring breeze melted away the snow
on the hills and was quickly gone without a trace
Would that I borrowed it briefly
to blow through my hair;
I wish to blow away the ageing frost
thickening behind my ears.

Holding thorns in one hand
and a stick in the other,
I tried to block with thorns the road to age
and bat white hair with my stick.
But the grey hair knew better
and slipped by me taking a short cut.

Though this body die and die,
    though it die a hundred times;
though these bones bleach and pulverize to dust;
    whether my soul will be or will not be—
This heart was pledged to my lord:
    how could it ever change?