English Rendering
When it grows cold with chilly autumn breeze,
With fall of leaves,the dews will frost,then freeze.
When swans and swallows fly their southward way,
Thoughts of my wandering man fills me with dismay.
Now in deepened thoughts for home you stand,
Why do you linger on foreign land?
Day and night I stay at home alone;
Obsessed by thoughts of you here on my own,
Large drops of tears I shed and then I moan.
I play the Clear Shang tunes upon the lute,
Singing somber notes,now audible,now mute.
Upon my bed the bright moon sheds its light
When the Milky Way points to the west at night.
Woeful is the Cowherd and the Weaver Star!
Why are they just gazing from afar?
