It's fine to boat in the glow of the setting sun;
Before the breezes the waves languishingly run.
To rest in the deep bamboo grove we find it's coy;
Among the lotus leaves the cool we may enjoy.
The Masters in the cups of water mix the ice;
The beauties cut the lotus roots in snowy slices.
A sheet of inky clouds is overcasting overhead,
Likely, the rain wants poems to be written and read.