Transparent haze, cloudy cloud
A long, bad day is leaving.
The ninth day the ninth moon is coming,
The candle smokes with a spicy aroma
Fearful casting a shadow.
By midnight coolness blew
The breeze penetrates under the canopy.
And loneliness will be a reward
Only the jasper pillow chills.
I remembered: in the quiet hour of sunset
We: we drink wine for the oriental weaving ...
To this day, in the sleeves of the robe
Lurks the smell of once plucked
Flowers that have been gone for a long time.
What a measure of suffering!
And the west wind is tearing the curtain on the window ...
You're yellow chrysanthemum withering
Could have seen by looking at me.
poetess Li Qing-chao (1084 - 1151)
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