尾犯·夜雨滴空阶

Night rain drips on the empty steps; in the lonely inn I start from dream, my mood desolate. This wash of idle sorrow I think no painter could picture. Autumn grows old and the crickets' song turns bitter; the night draws to its close and the lamp-flowers fall one by one. Most unbearable of all: I spend these lovely nights sleeping alone.

The fair one surely blames me that since parting I have been careless of promises and light in keeping them. I remember how at first we clipped a lock of fragrant hair to make our pledge. When shall I come deep into her quiet chamber, compose new lyrics and drink the rosy wine with her, and laugh together as before? Gladly would I trade gold, jade and pearls for such a reunion.