Alone in October
Like a soul lost in the street,
I look up to the sky, to the face of October;
I scribble my passion on the foggy shadow,
Quietly having a look at the moving moon.
I also watch the people coming and going
And breaking on the surge among the dark shadows,
I count the Chinese dragons engraved on the bridge railings,
As sitting in a lonely boat tracked by myself.
As weeping and murmuring, I feel much regretful!
Anxious and compassionate, a heart strained like strings
I say that the mute qin, as I know, no melody wheezed out,
Fingers of fancy do not pluck the strings at last?
Walking Alone in October
Like a soul lost in a street corner,
I look at the face of October in the sky of October.
On the black shadow in the fog my ardor I smear,
Looking at the round of the moon flowing there,
And looking at the people flowing to and back,
Turning over stars on the waves in the shadow black.
I count the lions on the bridge balustrade made of stone,
Like sitting in a lonely boat, towed by myself alone,
Like crying, like murmuring, more like to myself apologizing!
Fretted, sympathetic, my heart stung like a lyre string, –
I say, a hoarse, hoarse lyre I know, an air
Not sung, the imagined fingers are on it, not there?