
A lonely boat, a thin moon, toward the maple wood that grieves;
And to the stranger’s heart I give the sorrow of the strings it weaves.
Those ranges, fold on fold, are lost in veils of countless rain —
The broken string is gathered in where tear‑tracks have their stain.
This poem was composed during Wang Changling's late years, on his journey into exile to Qianyang.
孤舟微月对枫林,分付鸣筝与客心。
岭色千重万重雨,断弦收与泪痕深。