Remnants of sun ribbon the river–
half and half, black river red.
Third night, ninth month lovely hour;
pearled dew, bent bow moon.
I enter the court
Through the middle gate—
And my sleeve is wet with tears.
The flowers still grow
In the courtyard,
Though two springs have fled
Since last their master came.
The windows, porch, and bamboo screen
Are just as they always were,
But at the entrance to the house
Someone is missing—
After eating lunch, I feel so sleepy.
Waking later, I sip two bowls of tea,
then notice shadows aslant, the sun
already low in the southwest again.
Joyful people resent fleeting days.
Sad ones can’t bear the slow yers.
It’s those with no joy and no sorrow—
they trust whatever this life brings.