What are you thinking as we part from one another, Pulling in our horses for the stirrup-cups? Do these tear-streaks mean Wu Valley monkeys all weeping, Or wildgeese returning with news from Heng Mountain?.... On the river between green maples an autumn sail grows dim, There are only a few old trees by the wall of the White God City.... But the year is bound to freshen us with a dew of heavenly favour – Take heart, we shall soon be together again!