The leaves are falling and south the wild goes soar;

The river has turned chill as the north winds soar.

At the winding of Xiang River is my home

Far off in Chu land where the clouds high up roam.

As a vagrant, I’ve drained all tears in my eyes;

Now, on a lonely boat, I gaze at the vast skies.

I am anxious to know where lies my course right

On such boundless water in the long, long night.

Meng Haoran