英译 by 沐岚： The land is still the land,
but my country has gone.
In spring the town becomes empty,
only are the grasses growing wild and long.
Weeping for the time being,
the flowers shed tears for me.
Parting is such an agony,
the birds feel my pain.
Never have the beacons ceased in months,
a home letter's worth ten thousand of gold.
Thiner in scratching my hoary hair goes,
a hair-pin can be held no more.