Shaking down the dew of early morning,
A clinking, lumbering sound drifts beyond the deep ravine.
The scythe, sated with scented rice, is laid down;
Shoulder baskets hold plump melons and fruits from the hedges.
Autumn is resting in a farmer’s home.
A round net is cast into the river of cold mist
And collects the shadows of dark cypress leaves, like blue
Hoary frost on the tips of the reeds,
While homeward oars dip and pull.
Autumn is playing in the fishing boat.
The grassy field seems wider when the crickets chirp;
The stream looks clearer when it dries up.
Where did the bamboo flute on the ox’s back go,
Its holes overflowing with summery scent and warmth?
Autumn is dreaming in the shepherdess’s eyes.
（Michelle Yeh 译）
Shaking down the pearls of dew that cloak an early morning,
The sound of a woodsman’s ax drifts from a sequestered vale.
As sickles, saturated with the scent of new rice, are laid aside,
And bamboo baskets marched off to carry home fat pumpkins from the vine,
Autumn rests on the farm.
Casting a round net in the chilly fog over the river,
To bring in the shadows of black leaves like blue flounders,
While the mat canopy of the boat bears a layer of hoarfrost,
The boatman gently paddles his small oar, homeward-bound.
Autumn plays on a fishing vessel.
The grassy wilderness gets more desolate and broader with the crickets’ chirping.
The water in the creek becomes more crystalline as it stoops to bare the rocks.
Where did they go, the notes of a flute that used to ride on a buffalo’s back,
And the flute’s holes whence the fragrance and warmth of a summer night used to flow?
Autumn dozes in the eyes of a shepherdess.
（Kai-yu Hsu 译）
Scattering all the pearly dews of morning,
The noise of timber-felling riddles the deep ravine,
Sickles sated with rice are put aside,
Plump melons and hedgerow-fruits are loaded in baskets.
Autumn lingers about the farmhouses.
Round nets are cast in the chilly mist on the river’s brim,
Flat-fish-like shadows of maple-leaves are gathered,
The awnings are covered under films of frost,
As they row homeward gently sway the oars.
Autumn dallies about the fishermen’s boats.
With chattering crickets the meadow seems more vast,
With boulders visible the brook more limpid.
Where are the flutes on the backs of oxen,
Whence flowed the heat and scent of summer nights?
Autumn dozes in the eyes of the shepherdess.
（Harold Acton and Ch’en Shih-hsiang 译）
Shaking down dewdrops dabbling all morning,
Sounds of timber-cutting float out from dark valleys.
Laying down sickles sated with fragrance of grains
And plump fruits, melons from wattles carried in back-baskets,
Autumn rests in a farmer’s home.
Casting round nets into the cold mists on the river,
Pulling in blue-bream-shaped black tallow shadows
With reed-awnings white-frosted
Autumn returns, rowing light oars
And plays upon the fishing boat.
The meadow becomes more silent with crickets singing.
The stream, more limpid with rocks emerging from drying water.
Where have the flutes upon ox-backs gone?
Where, the flute-holes brimming with summer night’s heat scent?
Autumn dreams in the eyes of a shepherdess.
（Wai-lim Yip 译）
The shudder of falling timber shakes down
The morning dew that drapes the secluded glade.
Lay down the sickle, fragrant with rice stalks,
Cram shoulder-baskets with plump melons and hedgerow fruits!
Autumn in perching on the peasant’s hut.
Cast round, round nets over the chill mist on the river
To catch shadows of cypress leaves, blue as bream!
White frost coats the reed canopy of the boat
That rocks with the dip of oars rowing homeward.
Autumn sports on the fisherman’s deck.
At a cricket’s chirp the meadow grows wider.
Boulders rise in the drying creek, its waters cooler, clearer.
Where is the lilt of the herd-boy’s bamboo flute
That stirred the warm scent of summer night?
Autumn is dreaming in the shepherd girl’s eyes.
（Herbert Batt and Sheldon Zitner 译）