the mountain-light suddenly fails in the west, in the east from the lake the slow moon rises. i loosen my hair to enjoy the evening coolness and open my window and lie down in peace. the wind brings me odours of lotuses, and bamboo-leaves drip with a music of dew.... i would take up my lute and i would play, but, alas, who here would understand? and so i think of you, old friend, o troubler of my midnight dreams !