I remember the first three lines of this poem by Li Qingzhao (d. 1155) from forty years ago. So I decided to do a translation of the entire Song Lyrics by one of the greatests poet in Chinese history:
An Evening In Autumn
Searching and seeking,
Quiet and bleak,
Desolate, bereft and forlorn.
The Autumn warmth has suddenly turned chilly,
It is most difficult to keep well.
A few cups of light wine,
Are no match for the strong morning wind!
Wild geese fly past,
While I’m grief-striken,
But they are friends from bygone days.
Fallen chrysanthemums pile up all over the ground,
Withered and scattered,
What else is there to pluck?
Leaning at the window alone,
How do I pass the time till dusk?
Raindrops fall on a parasol tree,
That becomes wet by evening.
A time such as this,
Is filled with sorrow immense and immeasurable.