East flows the grand river,
the celebrated names rising and falling
through waves upon waves
for thousands of years.
West of the ancient rampart,
it is said to be the Red Cliff,
known because of General Zhou
during the Three Kingdom period.
Jugged rocks piercing the skies,
furious breakers banging the banks
as if piling up a thousand snow drifts,
the scene so spectacular,
like in a painting,
in admiration, numerous heroes
came to the fore.
Long, long ago, I imagine,
When General Zhou in his days,
newly-wed with Little Qiao,
appeared so handsome and valiant,
wearing a silk hood, waving a feather fan,
in the midst of his laugh and talk,
the mighty enemy fleet gone
in smoke and ash.
Lost in the revelries
about this ancient land,
ridiculously sentimental, I
find my temples turning gray too early.
Oh life is just like a dream.
I pour a cup of wine
to the moon in the river.