Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? - If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could he hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?

　　燕子去了，有再來的時候;楊柳枯了，有再青的時候;桃花謝了，有再開的時候。但是，聰明的，你告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復返呢?——是有人偷了他們罷：那是誰?又藏在何處呢?是他們自己逃走了：現在又到了哪里呢?

　　I don't know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.

　　我不知道他們給了我多少日子;但我的手確乎是漸漸空虛了。在默默里算著，八千多日子已經從我手中溜去;象針尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在時間的流里，沒有聲音也沒有影子。我不禁頭涔涔而淚潸潸了。

　　Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming; yet in between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus--the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal, and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh. But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.