Here at the world's end the cold winds are beginning to blow.
What messageshave you for me, my master?
When will the poor wandering goose arrive?
Therivers and lakes are swollen with autumn's waters.
Art detests a too successfullife; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws.
You had better havea word with the ghost of that other wronged poet.
Drop some verses into
Mi-lo as an offering to him! Tu Fu (tr.
Hawkes)
