Drunk in the Shade of Flowers: Thin Mist, Thick Clouds, the Long Sorrowful Day

Thin mist and heavy clouds—sorrow fills the long day; the ruinao incense burns away within the golden beast. The fair festival comes round again, the Double Ninth: on the jade pillow and gauze bed-canopy, at midnight the chill first pierces through.

By the eastern hedge I hold wine after dusk, and a hidden fragrance fills my sleeves. Do not say it is not heart-rending: when the west wind lifts the blind, the person is thinner than the yellow flower.