The gold spat by the bird was thus called Pi Han Chin or Gold of Warding Off Gold. The red glow of popping sparks from the wick has been said to be an omen of happiness. My courtyard is small, windows idle, spring is getting old. Screens unrolled cast heavy shadows. In my upper-story chamber, speechless, I play on my jasper lute.
Clouds rising from distant mountains hasten the fall of dusk.
Gentle wind and drizzling rain cause a pervading gloom. Pear blossoms can hardly keep from withering, but droop. From the jade burner rises the up-curling smoke of the dying incense. Dreams cam back to me as I slumbered on the hill-shaped pillow which concealed my hairpins with flowery ornaments. Plum flowers, newly fallen, drift about the courtyard in the evening wind.