To the Tune "Partridge Sky"

Just as I joy at noble autumn —
crisp air now so fresh —
I grieve that the mid-autumn moon
knows how to wound my soul.
The wine wears off — memories
of twenty years ago;
startled awake — in exile, three thousand miles away!

Maple leaf bank,
chrysanthemum ford;
I should go buy a bottle of the finest Ah-ning Spring!
The puppets on the curtained stage
have always been unreal;
the dream of Han-tan on the pillow — was it ever true?
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Author of original: 
Yang Shen
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