From year to year the moons look alike, old and new.
We do not know tonight for whom she sheds her ray,
But hear the river say to its water adieu.
Away, away is sailing a single cloud white;
On Farewell Beach are pining away maples green.
Where is the wanderer sailing his boat tonight?
Who, pining away, on the moonlit rails would lean?
Alas! The moon is lingering over the tower;
It should have en her dressing table all alone.
She may roll curtains up, but light is in her bower;
She may wash, but moonbeams still remain oone.
She es the moon, but her husband is out of sight;
She would follow the moonbeams to shine on his face.
But message-bearing swans ’t fly out of moonlight,
Nor letter-nding fish leap out of their place.
He dreamed of flowers falling over the pool last night;
Alas! Spring has half gone, but he ’t homeward go.
The water beating spring will run away in flight;
The moohe pool will in the west sink low.
In the mist ohe slanting moon will hide;
It’s a long way from northern hills to southern streams.
From year to year the moons look alike, old and new.
We do not know tonight for whom she sheds her ray,
But hear the river say to its water adieu.
Away, away is sailing a single cloud white;
On Farewell Beach are pining away maples green.