Wave on wave the long river eastward rolls away;
Gone are all heroes with its spray on spray.
Success of failure, right or wrong, all turn out vain;
Only green mountains still remain
To see the setting sun’s departing ray.
The white-haired fishermen sail on the steams with ease,
Accustomed to the autumn moon and vernal breeze.
A pot of wine in hand, they talk as they please.
How many things before and after
All melt into gossip and laughter!