What are you thinking as we part from one another,
Pulling in our horses for the stirrup-cups?
Do these tear-streaks mean Wu Valley monkeys all weeping,
Or wildgeese returning with news from Hêng Mountain? ...
On the river between green maples an autumn sail grows dim,
There are only a few old trees by the wall of the White God City ...
But the year is bound to freshen us with a dew of heavenly favour —
Take heart, we shall soon be together again!