Once when we were living this side of T'ai-po's peak
we went several times to Hsien-yu Temple.
When Black River deeps were clear we could see right to the bottom,
where white clouds parted, the grotto's gaping mouth!
We heated wine among the trees, burning fall leaves,
brushed away green moss to inscribe poems on rocks.
How I regret that those outings will never come again,
envy your return in this chrysanthemum time!