You ask when I will return, but I still cannot name a date. Autumn-night rain falls unceasingly in the Ba Mountains, and the pond is rising. When can we sit together beneath the west window, trimming the candle and talking at length, then look back on tonight’s rain in the Ba Mountains?

寄北: Sent to relatives or friends in the north. Interpretations differ over the precise identity of “君” (“you”) in the poem; there is no need to insist on a particular person. 巴山: Here, broadly, the mountains of the Ba and Shu regions. 涨秋池: Autumn rain makes the pond rise.

何当: when will it be possible? 共剪西窗烛: to reunite and talk at night, trimming the candlewick to keep it bright. 却话: to look back and speak of something. This page uses the common reading “何当”; variants include “何时,” also meaning “when.”

Reading guide: The poem begins with an uncertain date of return, connecting a lonely rainy night in the present with an imagined reunion. Rather than remaining within the sorrow of separation, the poet lets a future meeting become a little warmth that lights the present.

The repetition of “期” (date) in the first line sounds like an answer to a letter while revealing the hesitation of someone who wishes to return but cannot. “巴山夜雨” (night rain in the Ba Mountains) specifies a place and a kind of weather, turning abstract waiting into an autumn night that can be heard and felt.

The final two lines bend time: in the present, the speaker imagines a future reunion; in that future, they will speak of the present. The rainy night appears twice, without adding another scene, yet the emotion stretches from loneliness to anticipation, leaving a restrained, lingering resonance.