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Who are you， reader， reading my poems an hundred years hence？
你是什么人，读者，百年后读着我的诗？
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring， one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
我不能从春天的财富里送你一朵花，天边的云彩里送你一片金影。
Open your doors and look abroad.
开起门来四望吧。
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
从你的群花盛开的园子里，采取百年前消逝了的花儿的芬芳记忆。
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning， sending its glad voice across an hundred years.
在你心的欢乐里，愿我感到一个春晨吟唱的活的欢乐，把它快乐的声音，传过一百年的时间。