To the tune of "Intoxicated Under the Shadow of Flowers"

Light mists and heavy clouds,
 melancholy the long dreary day.

In the golden censer
 the burning incense is dying away. 

It is again time
 for the lovely Double-Ninth Festival;
 
The coolness of midnight
 penetrates my screen of sheer silk
 and chills my pillow of jade.
 
 
After drinking wine at twilight
 under the chrysanthemum hedge,
 
My sleeves are perfumed
 by the fragrance of the plants.
 
Oh, I cannot say it is not endearing,

Only, when the west wind stirs the curtain,
 I see that I am more gracile
 than the yellow flowers.