A Thousand Autumns: Beyond the Sand by the Water

Beside the water, beyond the sands: the spring chill is leaving the city walls. Flower-shadows all tumbled, the oriole's notes in fragments. Drifting from place to place, I seldom raise the wine-cup; parting has loosened my girdle. He is not to be seen; the blue clouds close at dusk, and I face them in vain.

I recall the gathering at the western pool, where the ranked officials rode beneath canopies together. The place where we walked hand in hand — who is there now? The pure dream beside the sun is broken; within the mirror the rosy face has changed. Spring is gone — ten thousand spots of flying red: sorrow like a sea.