I left the metropolitans in the morning
And here I am with the perople of Ch'end for the night
When he has no friends in some place
The solitary traveller makes one of his servant
I have peered in vain for Nanyang and Loyang
Over the plain dark with long autumn rain
The old farmers are home by the edge of the fields
While the boys are guarding the herds in the wet
The landlord lives on the rise to the east
His house surrounded with the season's crop
Insects humming, looms at rest
Birds twittering, grain coming ripe
Tomorrow I must cross Ching River
Last night I was still in Golden Valley
I am going away—what do I mean by it?
I am off to the end of the earth for a little pay.