The travellers' parting-song sounds in the dawn.
Last night a first frost came over the river;
And the crying of the wildgeese grieves my sad heart
Bounded by a gloom of cloudy mountains. …
Here in the Gate City, day will flush cold
And washing-flails quicken by the gardens at twilight—
How long shall the capital content you,
Where the months and the years so vainly go by?