English Rendering
Tonight, stirred by wine and verse, I linger at Xie Gong's tower,
Where moonlight floods the silent halls, in its fullest, clearest hour.
The shadows close the heavy gate; one tree bears autumn's chill.
A magpie startles, scattering leaves; fireflies drift past the hill.
Now at the edge of distant skies—this moonlight pure and deep,
How many hearts, beneath its glow, are lost in silent grief?
