qīng sè yuàn yáo yè,
rào xián fēng yǔ '
āi。
gū dēng wén chǔ jiǎo,
cán yuè xià zhāng tái。
fāng cǎo yǐ yún mù,
gù rén shū wèi lái。
xiāng shū bù kě jì,
qiū yàn yòu nán huí。
Far through the night a harp is sighing
With a sadness of wind and rain in the strings....
There's a solitary lantern, a bugle-call –
And beyond Terrace Tower down goes the moon.
...Fragrant grasses have changed and faded
While still I have been hoping that my old friend would come....
There are no more messengers I can send him,
Now that the wildgeese have turned south.