Wind ceased, the dust is scented with fallen flowers.
Though day is getting late, I am too weary
to attend my hair.
I always remember the sunset
over the pavalion by the river.
So tipsy, we could not find our way home.
In the sky, the River of Stars is moving.
In the world of mortals,my curtains are hanging down.
It is getting chilly on my tear-soaked pillow and mat.
I get up to losen my silk robe, wondering how advanced is the night.
Year by year, in the snow,
I have often gathered plum flowers,
intoxicated with their beauty.
foundling them impudently
Lonely in my secluded chamber,
A thousand sorrows fill every inch
of my sensitive being.
Thousands of light flakes of crushed gold for its blossoms,
And the trimmed jade for its layers of leaves,
This flower has the air of Scholar Yen Fu.
It was far into the night when, intoxicated,
I took off my ornaments;
The plum flower withered in my hair.
Recovered from tipsiness, the lingering smell of wine.
I ascent high on the sotried pavilion,
Below,mountains scatter in disorder;
The unclutivated plain extends
far in the light mist.
Light mists and heavy clouds,
melancholy the long dreay day,
In the golden cencer
the burning incense is dying away.