Tune: “The Moon over the West River”
Startled by magpies leaving the branch in moonlight;
I hear cicadas shrill in the breeze at midnight.
The ricefields’ sweet smell promises a harvest great,
I listen to the frogs’ croak when the night grows late.
Beyond the clouds seven or eight stars twinkle;
Before the hills two or three raindrops sprinkle.
There is an inn beside the Village Temple. Look!
The winding path leads to the hut beside the brook.