Once I roamed the martial woods, and met you by the river's head.
I was heading south by carriage, while you were west by boat to tread.
We met and laughed, then pawned our coats to climb the tower high.
The tower's height defied the heat; in May, cool autumn seemed nigh.
All around, four hills were bright; below, a thousand households dense.
The noisy market crowd at dusk, with songs and flutes, grew immense.
We drank, forgetting form, and drunk, no plans were left to devise.
On the lake, lotus bloomed; orioles flew through willow isles.
Suddenly we plied two oars, chasing gulls up and down for miles.
Unaware, we left the dusty world, claiming carefree travel as prize.
At dusk, we sought a temple at the town's edge, where bamboo groves stood like a canopy wide.
We chopped wood to brew mountain tea, dispelling worries with free stride.
Lazy feet tired of the market's din; five days we lingered there.
The solemn house of the Grand Historian, its gate quiet and bare.
A desolate pavilion shaded by sparse paulownia, where sparrows chirped in fight.
The man, a rare sage of his time, mocked by the worldly plight.
Only you and I, with scrolls in hand, sought him out again.
Glad to hear his promise honored, more than fiefdoms we'd disdain.
Who says the Queen Mother's peach, Dongfang Shuo could not steal?
Soon you bid farewell, heading west to serve the royal weal.
On a Wu boat through wind and rain, I saw you off with sorrow deep.
In August, you presented writings, on Xia, Shang, Zhou, insights to keep.
Alas, for the world's steeds, black stallions are hard to seek.
I, unworthy, was recommended locally, in hemp robes before the throne meek.
Ashamed not to be a phoenix's omen, I was sent back to woods and hill.
In March, I crossed the river; you journeyed to the sea's edge still.
We parted, gazing far apart, sighing without cease.
The inn's harshness insults men, like Han E's song, a hollow release.
Standing with a lute at Qi's gate, one blames not being received.
Alas, you and I, unfortunate to such company be grieved.
A guest from Min and Wu brought letters, poems of tender care.
Opening them, I felt lost, but courage surged then and there.
Like drinking from the Greed Spring, sea goods filled both eyes with glare.
Your poems grew richer still; my lines could yet compare.
Spring birds and autumn insects, we sing to each other, our hearts laid bare.