I oft remember your robe when green grass is seen,
Perfumed by incense burnt your girdle green.
All is quiet along the balustrade,
On which we leaned when daylight began to fade.
The breeze is full of grace,
The moon has left no trace,
My soul is steeped in hidden grief.
And I would try
To write it on a withered flower or leaf
And send it to the morning cloud on high.
长因蕙草记罗裙,
绿腰沉水熏。
阑干曲处人静,
曾共倚黄昏。
风有韵,
月无痕,
暗销魂。
拟将幽恨,
试写残花,
寄与朝云。