No light within the court, and moss climbs the stairs;
I move my couch, sit sprawled beneath the courtyard ash.
Cool clouds across the water, not likely it will rain;
Thin lightning leans against the mountain, no thunder yet.
In willows’ shade I watch paired magpies settle;
To bamboos’ depths from time to time come fireflies.
This great official feels drier than Hsiang-ju;
To quench that thirst, would I be thinking only of a single cup of dew?

translated by J.P. Seaton