On a cool night when golden breezes and jade dew first arrive,
Autumn grass before the window.
Lightly tipsy, dozing at ease,
With the river breeze for a pillow, my dream remains incomplete.
Longing and fleeting regret are hard to entrust to anyone,
The red letter was written in vain.
I try to play the jade flute,
But fear its heart might secretly convey my feelings.
Perhaps you pity the hat I dropped while drunk in the tower,
Still dusted with the traces of song.
I try to brush the fragrant cushion,
Leaving it here to loosen my golden saddle and sleep through spring.
