Eight Returns: Seeing off Hu Dehua in Xiangzhou
- Poetry of Jiang Kui

Lotus blooms shed their fragrant powder,

Sparse plane trees cast their verdant shade,

In the courtyard, the hidden rain just ceases.

For no reason, I hug my shadow in this heartbreak place—

Still, I see fireflies flicker by the bamboo fence,

And hear crickets keen on mossy steps.

I accompany my guest once more on the westward path,

And ask, who now plucks the lute strings on the water’s face?

Most pitiful—this stretch of rivers and hills,

All given over to the weeping cuckoos’ cries.

I’ve long regretted our meetings were too brief;

Now, why must we part again in the west wind’s breath?

The islet chills, the mist grows faint,

The oars move, the man drifts far—

His distant boat, a leaf afloat in mist.

I imagine his lady, waiting long,

Leans on bamboo, sorrow threading her silken steps.

When he returns, they’ll drink together from jade cups,

Lower the beaded curtain,

And gaze idly at the bright, exquisite moon.

芳莲坠粉，疏桐吹绿，庭院暗雨乍歇。

无端抱影销魂处，还见篠墙萤暗，藓阶蛩切。

送客重寻西去路，问水面琵琶谁拨？

最可惜、一片江山，总付与啼鴂。

长恨相从未款，而今何事，又对西风离别？

渚寒烟淡，棹移人远，飘渺行舟如叶。

想文君望久，倚竹愁生步罗袜。

归来后，翠尊双饮，下了珠帘，玲珑闲看月。