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薄雾浓云愁永昼，瑞脑消金兽。佳节又重阳，玉枕纱橱，半夜凉初透。
东篱把酒黄昏后，有暗香盈袖。莫道不消魂，帘卷西风，人比黄花瘦。
Zuihuayin
With dense clouds hanging overhead,
Daylight has become almost gray.
Thin mist has added the effect—
Of a whole miserable day.
Burnt out is the little incense,
Coiled in the embossed metal urn.
To climb high somewhere marks the day,
Which itself marks the season's turn.
Porcelain pillows; gauze nets:
Aside must all such things be thrown.
When, at midnight or thereabouts,
One feels one is chilled to the bone.
With the evening almost gone,
I sip my wine near the east fence,
Where chrysanthemums are in bloom,
My sleeves hold a slight fragrance thence.
Let it not be said that my soul—
Is unstirred from drinking alone.
To be quite frank, to put it mild:
My present state of mind lacks tone.
What with curtains being folded—
By violent blasts from the west,
As compared with chrysanthemums,
I look slimmer e'en at my best.
（徐忠杰 译）
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