In April the heavens put on a yellow face,
Howling and scattering sand over man’s world.
Like the Yi nationality the inhabitants of Beijing wear veils,
And visitors hide their gloomy countenances under big gauze masks.
Who has said that the spring in Beijing is beautiful?
Here one may fossick for gold from the yellow sand
That splashes from the sunless sky and spills out of human mouths,
And a hundred flowers wither as the goddess of wind dances wildly.