The bright moon, oh, how white it shines, Shines down on the gauze curtains of my bed. Racked by sorrow I toss and cannot sleep. Picking up my clothes, I wander up and down. My absent love says that he is happy, But I would rather he said he was coming back. Out in the courtyard I stand hesitating, alone. To whom can I tell the sad thoughts I think? Staring before me I enter my room again; Falling tears wet my mantle and robe.