Diao qiu huan jiu:
Talking at Night with My Elder Sister
Autumn hides us behind double gates.
Sitting on linked beds by the west window, we trim the candle.
How many fine nights can there be?
Days hurry by, the passing clouds an illusion.
I’ve tasted all the flavors of sorrow
And regret there’s nowhere to bury my worries within these walls.
Suddenly I think of that awful day when we shall part:
Then I’ll be anxious to see you return for a home visit.
Once we separate
It will be hundreds of miles.
What’s the point of writing about famous mountains?
I sigh that this year I’ve scribbled off and on,
Half treating it as a game.
I am associated with not a few women friends,
Before my eyes, their silk gauze robes displayed in multitude.
On whom can I count to be my companion in these chambers?
I have been unable to abandon my poetic nature.
Still more I’m sorry your features have all grown plain.
When the one lamp flickers out,
We lift up our voices in song.
（Grace Fong 译）