On the Way to Hang-chow: Anchored on the River at Night

Little sleeping and much grieving, — the traveller
Rises at midnight and looks back towards home.
The sands are bright with moonlight that joins the shores;
The sail is white with dew that has covered the boat.
Nearing the sea, the river grows broader and broader,
Approaching autumn, — the nights longer and longer.
Thirty times we have slept amid mists and waves,
And still we have not reached Hang-chow!
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Po Ch├╝-i
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