The cicadas cry forlornly. At dusk, by the long pavilion, the sudden rain has just stopped. We drink beneath the city gate, but neither of us can find the heart for it. As we linger, the boatman urges the boat to depart. We clasp hands and look at each other through tear-filled eyes, unable to speak for the lump in our throats. I think of the journey ahead: a thousand miles of misty waters, beneath a vast sky dimmed by the deepening twilight.
Since ancient times, those who love deeply have suffered most from parting. How much worse it is on this desolate autumn evening! Where will I be when I wake from tonight's wine? By the willow-lined shore, in the dawn breeze beneath the fading moon. In the years to come, even the loveliest days and fairest scenes will feel wasted. Though I may have a thousand tender feelings, who will there be to share them with?
