“Just now when I, Han-Shan, said your name,
A green heron rose from the White River
And flew off toward the state line.
You called ‘Goodbye’ last night,
Looking back to where I stood
Among catkined willows.
How swiftly darkness came.
Now what does it matter
That the man walking toward me on the road
Is the handsomest of men
Or so ugly as to make the gods laugh?
Who sees after dark?
The dint of your dark head
On the pillow of the other bed
Holds the spill of my unwept tears.
Here is part of the problem.
You will be gone until spring.
Wild ducks at the river will starve
Without the seedcakes we tossed them.”
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