I must launch out my boat—I must. The languid hours pass by on the shore—alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the burow of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The water waves hasve become clamourous and upon the bank of the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness thou gazest upon! Dost thou not feel the thrills passing through the air with the notes of the faraway song floating from the other shore!
