The mountain paths are steep and sheer, the stones are dangerous,
but the journey doesn’t grieve me; I grieve from lovesickness.
Ice melts in distant streams — I miss your clear voice;
snowy, distant mountain peaks — I think of your jade form.
Don’t listen to street songs or get drunk with wine in spring;
cease to entertain idle guests. Don’t long for chess at night.
Our union will endure as the rocks and pines;
we’re paired wings, joined lapels; we can bear delay.
Though it’s sad to walk alone on the last day of winter,
we’ll finally meet again when the moon is full.
Parted now, what may I send as a gift?
Fallen tears, clear light, this one poem.