Last night poured forth the Moon's bright golden waves.
And all shall tell how pure this Autumn's dew.
The mountains seemed to spread across the Earth.
The Milky Way flowed past high Heaven through.
Fuel seekers from ravines with songs return.
A lone flute in the town its woe uplifts.
From dreams disordered starts the fisher boy:
At midnight's hour across the stream he drifts.