Tz'u No. 14

To the tune of "Thinking of Maiden Ch'in"

I ascend high on the storied pavilion,
Below, mountains scatter in disorder;
the uncutivated plain extends
far in the light mist.

In the light mist,
Crows have returned to their nests;
The evening horn is heard in the dusk.
Burnt-out incense, left-over wine -
my melancholy heart!
The evening wind hastens
the Wu-T'ung leaves fall.

The Wu-T'ung leaves fall,
Again the autumn becomes beautiful,
Again the heart is lonesome.