While the autumn moon is pouring full
On a thousand night-levels among towns and villages,
There meet by chance, south of the river,
Dreaming doubters of a dream. . .
In the trees a wind has startled the birds,
And insects cower from the cold in the grass;
But wayfarers at least have wine
And nothing to fear–till the morning bell.

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu