Grace Vineyards, by Li Qingzhao
Light mists and heavy clouds, melancholy the long dreay day,
In the golden cencer, the burning incense is dying away.
It is again time, for the lovely Double-Nith 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 faint fragrance of the plants.
Oh, I cannot say it is not enchanting, Only, when the west wind stirs the curtain,
I see that I am more graceful than the yellow flowers.