Tune: “Manifold Little Hill”
The autumn crickets chirped incessantly last night,
Breaking my dream home-bound,
‘T was already mid-night.
I got up and alone in the yard walk’d around,
On window screen the moon shone bright,
There was no human sound.
My hair turns gray
For the glorious day.
In native hills bamboos and pines grow old.
O when can I see my household?
I would confide to my lute what I have in view,
But connoisseurs are few.
Who would be listening
Through I break my lute string?