To the tune of "Intoxicated Under the Shadow of Flowers" Light mists and heavy clouds, melancholy the long dreary day. In the golden censer the burning incense is dying away. It is again time for the lovely Double-Ninth 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 fragrance of the plants. Oh, I cannot say it is not endearing, Only, when the west wind stirs the curtain, I see that I am more gracile than the yellow flowers.