English Rendering
What can melt away the melancholy of lodging at an inn?
When I open the red notepaper, I see the fine lines of your writing.
Rain sprinkles Penglai all other peaks grow small,
The wind blows in Xie Valley myriad leaves touched by autumn.
In the morning I read word after word, more precious than green jade,
And at night beneath my coverlets I recite page after page.
I’ll pack your poem away in a fragrant casket,
But for now I’ll take it in hand and chant it.
