A political prisoner listening to a cicada – Luo Bingwang

While the year sinks westward, I hear a cicada
Bid me to be resolute here in my cell,
Yet it needed the song of those black wings
To break a white-haired prisoner’s heart….
His flight is heavy through the fog,
His pure voice drowns in the windy world.
Who knows if he be singing still? – –
Who listens any more to me?

非谓文墨，取代幽忧云尔。
西路蝉声唱， 南冠客思侵。
那堪玄鬓影， 来对白头吟。
露重飞难进， 风多响易沉。
无人信高洁， 谁为表予心。