To-day at the time of falling leaves we meet only to part
On the autumn waters of the Tung-ting, that stretch afar to the horizon.
And while talking together of our good old time at the metropolis of gold,
We turn to the northern sky and gaze at the stars of the Ursa Major, our eyes filled with tears.

See, in the world all love proves false.
On their own happiness all are set; each on his own, be it wife, be it friend.
" Mine, mine, " cry all: the mind is chained to self-regard.
At the last none is thy companion: passing strange is this, their way.
O foolish heart, still thou perceivest not: with teaching thee the law my strength is gone.
O Nanak, he alone will cross the world-ocean, who sings the songs of Hari.

All this trafficking is but for the life-time.
Not for one half hour's space is one established: forth from thy house thou art borne.

Mother, father, brothers, sons and friends, and the wife within thy home.
From the body the soul is parted, and they flee crying, " Avaunt, Avaunt. "

The life of the created world is but mirage: perceive and ponder it in thy heart.
Nanak says — Sing the True Name always — by this comes salvation.

Divided from you, I lament alone under the skies of Yeh-lang.
In my moonlit house seldom a message arrives;
I watch the wild geese all go north in the spring.
And they come south — but not a letter from Yu-chang.

Behold the frog, who, when he opes
His mouth, displays his whole inside!

Whence comes this voice of the sweet bamboo,
Flying in the dark?
It flies with the spring wind,
Hovering over the city of Lo.
How memories of home come back to-night!
Hark! the plaintive tune of — Willow-breaking. — â?¦

Gold are the staircases, and like a kingfisher's wings
Sparkle the towers of the house where I shall be.
But the thought of you, my dear, who will stand alone
By the ancient gate and weep,
Will make me sit awake at night by the lonely lamp,
And watch the dying moon of dawn;
And all my tears shall flow as I journey on to the west.

Emaciated frog! be not
Worsted in fight: — Issa is here.

What then? what are his million bales?
Mere dewdrops on the bamboo grass.

Thrice my prince has called. I shall go, and not return.
To-morrow morn I take leave of you,
And cross the pass of Wu Kuan.
In vain you shall look for me in the white jade house,
But you must go and climb the Hill of Wang-fu longingly.