English Rendering
The crescent moon veiled by cloud light
I wake from wine when my boat sets sail at midnight.
Turning my head toward the mist-veiled lonely town,
I only remember the farewell song,
But not when from the wine shop I got down
Hood wry, fan dropped, I slipped from wicker bed.
Whom can I tell the dreary dream Id read?
When from this floating life may I take rest?
My hometown in southwest,
Why doI of tin southeast bid adieu as guest?
