When the Mountains and Seas Meet the Moonset

An old man with bushy brows in a jade-ringed fairy garden,

Seeking immortal light beyond the crimson palace gates, high in the clouds.

All the flowers grieve as late autumn turns to gold,

While mist veils the sweet-scented osmanthus and green jade.

Say not the mountain ridge is steep and treacherous,

For there are still hearts that honor what is fair.

Alas, worldly affairs vanish like clouds and smoke.

I send you eastward, across the waters on your homeward boat.

The bright moon over the blue sea sheds tears in vain,

And the goddess of Wushan pines away to no avail.

The bitter pain of parting is life’s greatest sorrow;

Once parted, all our affection fades into the unknown.

Northern snow cuts through the sky, the sword gleams with frost,

An autumn wind carries the horse toward the homeland.

At the end of the three spring months, I look back once more,

But no smoke rises from the imperial tombs.