ON THE WAY TO HANGCHOW: ANCHORED ON THE RIVER AT NIGHT
Little sleeping and much grieving,— the traveller
Rises at midnight and looks back towards home.
The sands are bright with moonlight that joins the shores;
The sail is white with dew that has covered the boat.
Nearing the sea, the river grows broader and broader:
Approaching autumn, the nights longer and longer.
Thirty times we have slept amid mists and waves,
And still we have not reached Hang-chow!
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