The Boat

I must launch out my boat. 

The languid hours pass by on the 

shore... Alas for me! 

The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. 

And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger. 

The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane 

the yellow leaves flutter and fall. 

What emptiness do you gaze upon! 

Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air 

with the notes of the far-away song 

floating from the other shore?