Alone stand I in autumn cold,
Of Orange Islet at the head,
Where River Xiang goes north. Behold!
Hills upon hills are all in red,
Woods upon woods in crimson dressed.
The river green down to the bed,
A hundred ships in speed contest.
Far and wide eagles cleave the air；
Up and down fish glide o’er depths clear:
All creatures under frosty skies vie to be freer.
Brooding o’ver immensity there,
I wonder in this world so vast and dim.
Who decides who will sink or swim.
With many friends I oft came here.
How thick with salient days those bygone times appear!
When, students in the flower of our age,
Our spirit bright was at its height,
Full of the scholar’s noble rage,
We criticized with all our might.
Pointing to stream and hill,
Writing in blame or praise,
we treat’d like drit all mighty lords of olden days.
Do you remeber still,
Swimming mid-stream, we struck the waves to stay
The boats speeding their way?