I face the evening rain sweeping over river and sky, washing autumn clear once more. Gradually the frosty wind grows bitter and urgent; passes and rivers lie desolate, and the last sunlight falls upon the tower. Everywhere reds fade and greens diminish; slowly nature's splendor ends. Only the waters of the Yangtze flow eastward without a word.

不忍登高临远，望故乡渺邈，归思难收。叹年来踪迹，何事苦淹留？想佳人妆楼颙望，误几回、天际识归舟。争知我，倚阑杆处，正恁凝愁！— I cannot bear to climb high and gaze afar: my homeland lies so distant, and my longing to return is hard to restrain. I sigh over my wanderings these past years—why must I linger so painfully? I imagine my beloved gazing eagerly from her chamber, how many times mistaking a boat on the horizon for mine returning. How could she know that here, leaning on the railing, I am sunk in such deep sorrow!

I face the pattering evening rain spread across river and sky; one rain has washed the landscape into autumn’s chill clarity. Gradually, the frost-bearing wind grows stronger, passes, mountains, and rivers lie desolate, and the last light of sunset falls on a tall tower. Everywhere red flowers wither and green leaves dwindle; the lovely scenery slowly fades. Only the Yangtze flows silently east.

I cannot bear to climb high and gaze into the distance again: my homeland is far away, yet my longing to return is impossible to restrain. I sigh over these years of wandering—why have I endured staying away so long? I imagine my beloved looking up from her chamber, gazing into the distance, several times mistaking a boat on the horizon for mine returning home. How could she know that I, too, lean against a railing, my heart gathering just such sorrow?

潇潇: The sound of rain, or the appearance of swift, scattered wind and rain. 凄紧: Cold and pressing. 关河: Mountain passes and rivers. 是处: Everywhere. 苒苒: Gradually.

物华: beautiful scenery. 渺邈: distant. 淹留: to linger for a long time. 颙（yóng）望: to look up in expectation.

争知: How could one know? 恁 (nèn): Like this; so. 凝愁: Sorrow gathering and becoming hard to dispel.

Reading guide: Liu Yong writes of a traveler's homesickness through the act of climbing a tower and gazing into the distance, connecting the broad autumn river with the subtle feelings of the person inside. In the second stanza he turns from himself to the person waiting far away, letting their longing mirror each other across two places.

The first stanza moves from evening rain to frosty wind, mountain passes and rivers, and the lingering sunset, creating a broad yet clearly layered view. “唯有” (“only”) sets the river's ceaseless flow against the gradual decline of all things, suggesting that time will not pause for anyone.

“想佳人” (“I imagine my beloved”) in the second stanza marks a shift in viewpoint. The poet has not actually seen her mistake a passing boat for his return; he imagines her waiting. The final line returns to his own posture leaning against the railing, bringing their distant longings together in the same sorrow.