鹧鸪天·佳会

With coloured sleeves she eagerly offered up the jade cup; in those days I was willing to drink until my face flushed red. She danced until the moon over the willows at the heart of the tower had sunk; she sang until the wind beneath the peach-blossom fan was spent.

Since we parted I have lived on the memory of our meeting; how many times in dreams of the soul have I been with you? Tonight I hold the silver lamp high to look at you again, still fearing that this meeting is a dream.