"The sun has set, and a mist is in the flowers; And the moon grows very white and people sad and sleepless. A Zhao harp has just been laid mute on its phoenix holder, And a Shu lute begins to sound its mandarin-duck strings.... Since nobody can bear to you the burden of my song, Would that it might follow the spring wind to Yanran Mountain. I think of you far away, beyond the blue sky, And my eyes that once were sparkling Are now a well of tears. ...Oh, if ever you should doubt this aching of my heart, Here in my bright mirror come back and look at me!"