The moon is full, the autumn nights grow longer,
In the north forests startled crows cry out.
Still high overhead, the star river stretches,
The Dipper's handle set to southwest.
The cold cricket grieves deep in the chambers,
Of the notes of sweet birds, none remain.
Then one evening gusts of autumn come,
One who sleeps alone thinks fondly on thick quilts
Past loves are a thousand miles farther each day,
Blocked from my drifting and my sinking.
Man's life is not as the grass and trees,
Still the season's changes can stir the heart.
- WEI YING WU
