The Night on the Seventh Day of the Seventh Month: to the Tune of The Immortal magpies’ Bridge
The artful cloud adorns the evening sky;
The west wind sends away hot summer days;
The drizzle floats away and the moon sets from high.
The Cowherd and the Weaver Maid have had a year long wait.
How many tears are left
For their mournful parting sigh.
The cool air pierces into our sleeves;
The joy of their meeting comes to our seats.
Both high up there and down here, we get relief.
Every night and morning should be their meets.
Why is this changed
Into a year-long parting grief?
To the Melody of “Immortals at the Bridge of Magpies”
The Night of Double Seven
Ingenious clouds adorn the evening,
A western wind dispels the heat,
A light rain cleans out the sky, the moon sets.
Cowherd and Weaving Maiden have been through so many autumns,
But still how many
Feelings of separation, tears of despair.
A light chill enters my sleeves,
A secret pleasure fills the stars:
Satisfaction both in Heaven and down here below.
How much better were it every evening, every morning,
And do away with this
“One meeting once a year.”
（Wilt Idema and Beata Grant 译）