Genial, the spring sunlight, in Cold Food Festival weather.1 Aloeswood burns in the jade censer, a wavering trail of fading smoke. Returned from a dream, the pillow hides my inlaid flower hairpin. The coastal swallows have not returned, people play the stalk guessing game; the southern plum has faded, willows shed their cottony fluff. A light rain at sunset moistens the garden swing.
3.11
淡蕩春光寒食天。
玉爐沉水裊殘煙。
夢回山枕隱花鈿。
海燕未來人鬭草 江梅已過柳生綿。 黃昏疏雨濕鞦韆。
To the tune “Sands of the Washing Stream”
Genial, the spring sunlight, in Cold Food Festival weather.1 Aloeswood burns in the jade censer, a wavering trail of fading smoke. Returned from a dream, the pillow hides my inlaid flower hairpin.
The coastal swallows have not returned, people play the stalk guessing game;
the southern plum has faded, willows shed their cottony fluff. A light rain at sunset moistens the garden swing.