Some morrow I will die; all passion I give up

As floats in the air far away the old bitter cup.

Patriotism in each dam normal or sea grand,

Though in exile my soul hangs about my homeland.


Some morrow when I die, the moon no longer gray,

My poetry will fade like a dream to slip away.

In the remote region there is no cloud white,

And the pastoral river will loom in what site?


Some morrow I am gone, vale the planet of vision!

Pleasure or dolor, into the nil: only a rescission.

If in the future my soul is drifted, so chagrined,

I will still feel the country sunshine in the wind.


Translation by THANH-THANH