The mountain-light suddenly fails in the west, In the east from the lake the slow moon rises. I loosen my hair to enjoy the evening coolness And open my window and lie down in peace. The wind brings me odours of lotuses, And bamboo-leaves drip with a music of dew.... I would take up my lute and I would play, But, alas, who here would understand? And so I think of you, old friend, O troubler of my midnight dreams!