The Junior God
The Double Seventh Eve
The heat will abate
After the evening rain,
Light fragrance and wet dust remain.
Cold turns the dew,
The breeze freshens the courtyard in view.
In the water-clear sky
A hooklike moon hangs high.
Hindered for long, the Weaving Maid sighs,
Now she may go on a date,
Driving her winged wheels in flight.
As far as she stretches her eyes,
She sees fleecy clouds rise
Over the Silver River bright.
Such rendezvous is priceless since old days.
A maiden comes downstairs
To thread a needle in clever ways,
Looking upward, her cloudlike hairs
Caress her powdered face.
Who in the corridor whispers in the shade?
It’s her friend and his maid,
Exchanging golden hairpin and silver case.
They wish lovers may unite
Every year as this night
On earth as in the sky.