I stand on a high tower
And look out over jumbled mountains
And wilderness plains
And thin gleaming mist—
Thin gleaming mist.
As the raven’s fly home to roost,
Bugles ring out against the sunset sky.
The incense has faded,
But some wine remains.
My arms embrace nothing but remorse.
The wu-t’ung leaves fall—
The wu-t’ung leaves fall.
Autumn colors return.
My desolation returns.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung