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To the Tune of Guo Qin Lou


shuǐ
yù
qīng
chán
,
,
yè
xuān
liáng
chuī
,
,
xiàng
mò
mǎ
shēng
chū
duàn
.
.

xián

lù
jǐng
,
,
xiào
pū
líu
yíng
,
,
rě
pò
huà
luō
qīng
shàn
.
.

rén
jìng
yè
jǐu
píng
lán
,
,
chóu
bù
guī
mián
,
,

cán
gèng
jiàn
.
.

tàn
nián
huá

shùn
,
,
rén
jīn
qiān

,
,
mèng
chén
shū
yuǎn
.
.

kōng
jiàn
shuō
,
,
bìn
qiè
qióng
shū
,
,
róng
xiāo
jīn
jìng
,
,
jiàn
lǎn
chèn
shí
yún
rǎn
.
.

méi
fēng
dè
rù
,
,
hóng
yǔ
tái

,
,

jià
wǔ
hóng
dōu
biàn
.
.

shuí
xìn
wú
liáo
wèi

,
,
cái
jiǎn
jiāng
yān
,
,
qíng
shàng
xún
qiàn
.
.

dàn
míng
hé
yǐng
xià
,
,
hái
kàn

xīng
shǔ
diǎn
.
.


The moon was clear and bright after a bath,

Leaves rustled in the cool wind,

Hoofbeats faded in the lanes and streets.

Leisurely I leant against the well raining,

Watching her swatting merrily at fireflies,

Till eventually her silk gauze fan became torn.

Alas, a year has elapsed in a flash!

In the quiet night , long I've leant on the rail,

So depressed that I cannot sleep,

Lingering in the nostalgia of small hours.

We are severed so far apart now,

I no longer conjure her in my dreams nor do I receive her word .

I seem to see, her hair shaggy and unkempt,

Her face haggard in a bronze mirror,

She's grown too slothful to apply rouge and powder;

The ground is damp in the wet monsoon,

And after rainfall moss grows everywhere,

A bleak scene with red petals blown adrift.

Who knows that I'm brought so low over her,

Like the scholar whose literary grace is exhausted,

Like the man deeply mourning his dead wife?

All I can do is to gaze at teh stars sparse above

Twinkling faintly beside the dull Milky Way.

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