Foxes and hares swarm through a thousand villages, ten thousand hamlets.
Heaven's will is ever high and hard to fathom,
And human affections easily age, grief hard to express.
And now at South Bank,
I see you off!
Coolness rises from the riverbank willows, hastening the last heat away,
The slanting Milky Way gleams with sparse stars and a pale moon,
Clouds break, ripples stir faintly.
Across ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains, where will you be?
I look back on nights we talked face-to-face, sharing a bed.
Wild geese do not come here,
Once a letter is written, to whom can I entrust it?
My eyes sweep the blue heavens, pondering past and present—
How could I, like petty youths, whine about favors and grudges, calling each other "you" and "thou"?
Go now, my friend,
Do not look back.