I FURL my sail and linger at the market town of Huai.
As I anchor my boat at this lonely posting place
I hear the murmur of the wind lashing the waves
I see the daylight blotted out by night.
The peasant returns as the hills beyond the walls grow dark,
Flights of wild swans whiten the reedy islands.
In the loneliness of the night I think of the western frontier
Listening to the $((monastery))$ bell, a sleepless stranger.