At dusk, the river stretches into the distance; nightfall carries me away on the wind.
Autumn leaves stir the watery moon; sparse shadows lean against the window.
Night wanes, but the fragrance has not faded; seeking flowers, love has grown weary.
Sorrow settles over the late moon and willows; we each keep our thoughts to ourselves.
I gaze until the eastern waters disappear from sight.
How can tenderness endure this long night, with its cold winds and snow?
Flowers see tears fall, scattered through the drifting petals.
Leaves redden across the mountains, as the wind sweeps them away.
The evening breeze strokes the willows on the bank; a broken flute plays, red leaves dyed in autumn hues.
Drifting across the river, a thousand miles of frost and wind.
My hand brushes a row of jasmine gauze, unaware of the rouge-stained sorrow.
Tears spill along the river.
My king, farewell! In the end, neither of us can turn back.
After so many cycles of reincarnation, who truly lost to whom?
I don't want to argue anymore over who was right or wrong. I only want to drink three hundred cups with you again.
