Rows of carriages, grooms at rest—
A festive scene by the green water-margin:
The dark orchids release glorious fragrance,
The lotus radiates a red glow.
A hundred birds, how they flap and flutter,
With winged tumult the flocks chase each other.
“Cast the nets, pull in the deep-hiding fish;
Draw back the crossbow, down the high flying ones”—
The sun is already hidden in the west,
With such happiness, who thinks of going home?

translated by Ronald C. Miao