We part at the Pavilion Old;
The river flows its water cold.
Above we see trees not in bloom.
Below the vernal grass in gloom.
I ask a wanderer if we go astray;
He says an ancient poet took this way.
The way extends to the west capital,
Where floating clouds at sunset veil the palace hall.
Heartbroken here and now I part with you.
How can we bear to hear songs of adieu?