It is now clear autumn, chrysanthemums and crabs both growing fat;
Leaves of Chinese parasols fall while lean cicadas are scarce.
Frost heavy on distant peaks and maples red like drunken;
Winds strong over the river in the sky and passing geese fly low.
Stroking my thighs, I give a long chanting to express my ambition;
And getting on high, I have a remote view, facing slanting sunlight.
When my song ends, I look round, finding no one』s listening;
Only three or five returning crows are flying, so carefree.