Xin Qiji (辛弃疾)

Startled by magpies leaving the branch in moonlight;

I hear cicadas shrill in the breeze at midnight.

The ricefields'sweet smell promises a harvest great,

I listen to the frogs'croak when the night grows late.

Beyond the clouds seven or eight stars twinkle;

Before the hills two or three raindrops sprinkle.

There is an inn beside the Village Temple.Look!

The winding path leads to the hut beside the brook.

Drunken,I lit my lamp to see my glaive:

Awake,I heard the horns from tents to tents 

Under the flags,beef grilled 

Was eaten by our warriors brave

And martial airs were played by fifty instruments 

'Twas an autumn manoeuvre in the field.

On gallant steed 

Running full speed,

We'd shoot with twanging bows.

Recovering the lost land for the sovereign,

'Tis everlasting fame that we would win.

But alas!white hair grows!

One night's east wind adorns a thousand trees with flowers 

And blows down stars in showers.

Fine steeds and carved cabs spread fragrance en route,

Music vibrates from the flute,

The moon sheds its full light

While fish and dragon lanterns dance all night.

In gold-thread dress,with moth or willow ornaments,

Giggling,they melt into the throng with trails of scents.

But in the crowd once and again 

I look for her in vain.

When all at once I turn my head,

I find her there where lantern light is dimly shed.