Song Dynasty

八声甘州·对潇潇暮雨洒江天

Bā Shēng Gān Zhōu · Duì Xiāo Xiāo Mù Yǔ Sǎ Jiāng Tiān

柳永

Liǔ Yǒng

Duì xiāo xiāo mù yǔ sǎ jiāng tiān,

对潇潇暮雨洒江天,

Yī fān xǐ qīng qiū.

一番洗清秋。

Jiàn shuāng fēng qī jǐn,

渐霜风凄紧,

Guān hé lěng luò,

关河冷落,

Cán zhào dāng lóu.

残照当楼。

Shì chù hóng shuāi cuì jiǎn,

是处红衰翠减,

Rǎn rǎn wù huá xiū.

苒苒物华休。

Wéi yǒu cháng jiāng shuǐ,

惟有长江水,

Wú yǔ dōng liú.

无语东流。

Bù rěn dēng gāo lín yuǎn,

不忍登高临远,

Wàng gù xiāng miǎo miǎo,

望故乡渺邈,

Guī sī nán shōu.

归思难收。

Tàn nián lái zōng jì,

叹年来踪迹,

Hé shì kǔ yān liú?

何事苦淹留?

Xiǎng jiā rén,

想佳人,

Zhuāng lóu yóng wàng,

妆楼颙望,

Wù jǐ huí,

误几回、

Tiān jì shí guī zhōu.

天际识归舟。

Zhēng zhī wǒ,

争知我,

Yǐ lán gān chù,

倚阑杆处,

Zhèng nèn níng chóu.

正恁凝愁。


Translation

Before me, evening rain falls softly across the river and sky, as though it has washed autumn clean. Gradually the frost-laden wind grows sharper and more desolate; the passes and rivers lie cold and empty, while the fading sun shines against the tower. Everywhere, red blossoms have withered and green leaves have thinned. The beauty of the season is quietly coming to an end. Only the waters of the Yangtze remain, wordless, flowing east. I cannot bear to climb high and look far away. The moment I think of my distant homeland, my longing to return becomes impossible to contain. I sigh over the traces of these wandering years: why have I been made to linger so bitterly away from home? I imagine the woman I love, standing at her dressing tower, gazing into the distance. How many times has she mistaken a boat at the edge of the sky for the one that would bring me home? Yet how could she know that I, too, am leaning on the railing, held fast in this same deep sorrow?

Analysis

"Bā Shēng Gān Zhōu · Duì Xiāo Xiāo Mù Yǔ Sǎ Jiāng Tiān" is one of Liu Yong's finest lyrics of travel and homesickness. Unlike "Yǔ Lín Líng," which focuses on the moment of farewell, this poem moves into the aftermath of separation: the speaker stands far away, looking out over a vast autumn landscape. Evening rain, river and sky, frost wind, cold passes, and fading sunlight create a world that feels open yet desolate. Autumn here is not merely seasonal scenery; it is the emotional climate of exile. The most powerful line in the first stanza is "Only the waters of the Yangtze remain, wordless, flowing east." Flowers fade, leaves diminish, and the beauty of the year comes to an end. The river alone continues. It becomes more than a river: it is time, fate, and distance itself. Because it gives no answer to human sorrow, its silence deepens the speaker's loneliness. The second stanza turns from landscape to longing. To climb high and look far should offer a wider view, but for the traveler it only makes the homeland feel more unreachable. His homesickness is not casual nostalgia; it is bound to the pain of long wandering and the question of why he remains stranded away from home. The imagined woman at her tower adds another layer of sorrow. She mistakes distant boats for his returning vessel, while he leans on the railing, equally trapped in longing. The poem ends not with resolution, but with suspended grief: two people separated by distance, joined only by the same unspoken sorrow.

About the Author

Liu Yong, originally named Sanbian, courtesy name Qiqing, was a renowned poet of the Northern Song dynasty and a leading representative of the graceful and subtle (wanyue) school of ci poetry. His official career was largely unsuccessful, and he spent much of his life among the common people, composing vernacular, emotionally direct lyrics. He was instrumental in developing the manci (long lyric) form. His poetry is known for vivid description, accessible language, and deep emotional resonance, especially in themes of travel, separation, and nostalgia. "Eight Beats of Ganzhou · Facing the Evening Rain" is among his finest travel lyrics.