Classic Poem

Mountains wreathed in wisps of light cloud;
Withered grass stretches to meet the far horizon.
Muted the sound of bugles on the gate tower;
Ready to depart, a boat moored at the river's edge.
How many things bygone at the Fairy Pavilion
Return to mind in a misty haze,
As listlessly we drain our cups to bid adieu!
Beyond the setting sun, a scattering of crows in the cold air
Are winging above a stream
That winds round a solitary village.

Heart-rending this moment of separation
When the scented bag is tenderly given away as a memento,
And the silk girdle untied in token of farewell.
All this, however, has but earned me the name of a fickle lover,
A drifter in the Green Mansions.
Once parted, who can say when we'll meet again?
On my coat and sleeves are stains of tears shed in vain.
It grieves me to see the lofty city-walls
Receding from view in the lurid lights of evening.