每逢望夜，一轮当空，月光闪耀于碧波之上，上下空濛，一碧数顷，而且荷香远溢，宿鸟幽鸣，真不能不说是赏月胜地。荷塘月色的奇景，就在我的窗外。不管是谁来到这里，难道还能不顾而乐之吗？
On a night with the full moon in the sky, the Garden is certainly an ideal place to appreciate the poetic beauty seen in the vast sky where the moon hangs, the lush trees where sleepy birds sing, and the tranquil ponds where lotuses send out a delicate fragrance. The much-coveted sight of "moonlight over a lotus-covered pond" is right next to my room window. Whoever comes to my home will be delighted to see it.
然而，每值这样的良辰美景，我想到的却仍然是故乡苇坑里的那个平凡的小月亮。见月思乡，已经成为我经常的经历。思乡之病，说不上是苦是乐，其中有追忆，有惘怅，有留恋，有惋惜。流光如逝，时不再来。在微苦中实有甜美在。
On such beautiful nights, however, I will think of the ordinary moon over the pond in my home village. Indeed, seeing the moon never fails to make me think of my home village. It is hard to say if nostalgia—a malady, isn't it?—brings one sweetness or bitterness. As it is, nostalgia is filled with fond memories, anxieties, regrets, or even pain. Time, once gone, is gone forever. Ultimately, nostalgia is sweet with a touch of bitterness.
月是故乡明，我什么时候能够再看到我故乡的月亮呀！我怅望南天，心飞向故里。
Bright is the moon over my home village. When can I see that moon again? As I look southward, my heart flies there.
一九八九年十一月三日
November 3, 1989
