And now the lowest pine-branch
Is drawn across the disk of the sun.
Old friends who will forget me soon,
I must go on
Towards those blue death mountains
I have forgot so long.
 
In the marsh grasses
There lies forever
My last treasure,
With the hope of my heart.
 
The ice is glazing over;
Torn lanterns flutter,
On the leaves is snow.
 
In the frosty evening
Toll the old bell for me
Once, in the sleepy temple.
Perhaps my soul will hear.
 
Afterglow:
Before the stars peep
I shall creep into the darkness.