flowers of rice —
let them be my offering

under the harvest moon
awestruck crows
curb their voices

alone in bed
I hear a male mosquito
humming a sad tune

making sure we know
that autumn is here, a leaf
from the empress tree

let us start picking —
don't drop herbs from your basket
or anything else

Ah, the day is waning, in the western sky, over the lonely river, the even pinkish glow is fading . . . ah, when the sun sets, when the sun sets, night will return without fail. I weep alone beneath an apricot tree, but today is the eighth of April, and the sound of a crowd flooding the boulevard betokens festivities to come, so why am I the only one unable to stifle the tears welling up in my heart?

Day after day I live, deer for company,
Bright moon on the waters and clouds on the hills.
Nothing except these in the crevice of my heart —
Shall I send you a painting of autumn sound?

My eyes fixed on the mountains and my ears on the zither,
How could affairs of the world ever disturb my mind?
Though nobody knows I am full of lively spirits,
Wildly I sing out a song and then intone it alone.

I live in peace and quiet, confining myself to home;
Only the moon is invited to shine on my loneliness.
Please do not ask me how I am getting along;
There are endless misty waves and hills on hills.

The beating drum presses for my life;
I turn and see the sun is about to set.
No inn is provided by the underworld;
At whose house will I sleep tonight?