Eight Beats of Ganzhou: Evening Rain Sifts over the River Sky

Facing the soughing evening rain that sprinkles the river sky, one washing of clear autumn. By degrees the frosty wind turns chill and sharp; the passes and rivers lie cold and forsaken; the fading glow rests upon the tower. Everywhere the red fades and the green is pared away; slowly the glory of the year draws to its end. Only the waters of the Yangtze flow eastward in silence.

I cannot bear to climb high and gaze far, to look toward my distant homeland, with thoughts of returning past all restraining. I sigh over the journeys of these years — why have I bitterly lingered on? I think of my fair one gazing from her bower, and how many times she has mistaken a boat upon the horizon for my returning sail. How should she know that I, leaning here against the railing, am even now so lost in sorrow?