Memories in Early Winter

South go the wildgeese, for leaves are now falling,
And the water is cold with a wind from the north.
I remember my home; but the Hsiang River's curves
Are walled by the clouds of this southern country.
I go forward. I weep till my tears are spent.
I see a sail in the far sky.
Where is the ferry? Will somebody tell me?
It's growing rough. It's growing dark.