English Rendering
Thin mist, dense clouds, o’ercast all day, downcast ‘cos you’re away.
A bronze-lion incense burner, borneol exhales.
‘Tis again the festive day of Ninth of the Ninth;
My jade-like pillow, gauze-veiled bed,
By midnight, a chill will’ve begun to permeate.
Aft dusk, at the eastside ‘santhemum hedge: to our health, a cup I take;
And up my sleeves, a faint sweet scent pervades.
O say not my heart is not with gloom consumed!
Let the west wind whirl up my curtain
To betray I’m frailer than the yellow floriage.
