The Hudson River’s flowed
Today I see
A pleasure boat stowed
With net-like, wet-washed gray
I think of her
A thousand miles away
By Liu Yong (987-1053), Translated by Frank Watson
Clouds above the mountain top,
About the river of night and day;
Looking out at the meadow crop,
Her face arrayed in the misty spray.
A thousand autumns pass,
Leaving my eyes in a frozen state;
Looking to go home, at last,
I feel our life’s divided fate.
I gaze, but letters no longer console—
Their perfumed scent has faded;
I fly alone, without a soul,
A wild goose, unaided.
Landing on an islet, exposed