The Double Ninth Festival Beyond the Great Wall
Ancient trees lengthen into the autumn for man,
Floating duckweed swept past his ringlets.
It was a new Double Ninth Festival,
Curst and sad with fidgets.
I have a fund of the heart-rending arrival
In the midst of the wind and rain,
Striding down from the gable.
How can I detain the aborted dream
Whence her sweet soil wept me out of sleep?
In such cold moon beam,
The bare bedding is destitute of her keep.
Sitting up to the raucous cries of crows in the falling frosts
Of all things, I should dream up my old fair wights.