The tide beats against the empty city, and silently, silently, returns.
To the East, over the Huai River—the ancient moon.
Through the long, quiet night it moves, crossing the battlemented wall.
SUNG TO THE TUNE OF "THE UNRIPE HAWTHORN BERRY"
BY NIU HSI-CHI
Mist is trying to hide the Spring-coloured hills,
The sky is pale, the stars are scattered and few.
The moon is broken and fading, yet there is light on your face,