The scroll-like River-town’s steeped in twilight,
In view of mountains ‘neath a lucid sky.
Two rivers, mingling, form a mirror bright,
Two bridges like rainbows fallen from on high.
The cottage smoke has chilled the orange flower;
The autumn hue has oldened the plane trees.
Who ever dreamed I’d come up Northern Tower
To meditate on Xie in western breeze?