Now that we met again, four years had swiftly fled by;
One looked at the ground and the other at the sky.
On the ground were traverses and parallels in sight,
And in the sky, what sign? drifting clouds so white.
You are fifty but you are still a beauty specimen.
I glanced at you: you looked like a bud of jessamine.
I felt as if I had cloistered many previous lives before.
The afternoon grew late, the dragging-on sun hoar.
From time to time one has on the other his eye;
But after that little look there would be a long sigh.
The way to the old walk has already been closed,
The suffocative wafting former perfume I have nosed.
The odour of jessamine now has also away furled;
I look at the flowers to have regrets about the world.
Tears are still flowing down, in heavy drops falling;
Searching always but finding not any fit of joy calling.
Just four years had fled by, now that we met again;
To meet in an instant then each one's a separate lane.
You had written some lines of poetry of play full:
I've got short of breath trying the casting-net to pull.
It is not the River of Lovesick but there exists a bane...