The night's colour deepens in the silent, empty courtyard.

Each joyful festival day that passes stirs up feelings of melancholy.

Clouds conceal the distant, heavenly fragrance of the golden osmanthus;

The rain is damp and the parasol tree is late in growing its dense, green leaves.

Yuan Lao² has no heart to climb into the painted pleasure boat,

Yu Gong³ pours his feelings into a poem and ascends the tall tower.

The south wind rustles, desolate, encircling the courtyard.

This autumn, I have disappointed Heng E⁴.