长簟迎风早,空城澹月华。
星河秋一雁,砧杵夜千家。
节候看应晚,心期卧亦赊。
向来吟秀句,不觉已鸣鸦。
While a cold wind is creeping under my mat,
And the city's naked wall grows pale with the autumn moon,
I see a lone wild-goose crossing the River of Stars,
And I hear, on stone in the night, thousands of washing mallets....
But, instead of wishing the season, as it goes,
To bear me also far away,
I have found your poem so beautiful
That I forget the homing birds.