In the east, the Herd-boy; in the west, the Weaving Maid,
Tending calf and loom, separated by the river isle.
A west wind suddenly rises, lamenting the long night,
Gazing at each other, full of words they cannot speak.
They rush to plead with God for coins,
Five-colored clouds descend to form a fragrant carriage.
Trailing robes brush the dew, the Celestial Elm grows cold,
Turning, their shadows cast on slanting cassia leaves.
The Silver River's autumn waves run high in seventh moon,
At dusk, they wish to cross, yet no bridge is complete.
They turn to borrow magpies from the mortal world,
Who carry stones halfway, the river already falls.
Blue mist serves as curtains, rosy clouds as skirts,
Vermin banners nearly spent, two flags unfurled.
One star shines brilliantly with central glow,
Looking ahead to Han's bend, joy grows long.
Wind-chariots solemn, spirit dragons soar,
Meeting, they exchange a pair of gleaming earrings.
At the feast, raising sleeves, they open carved fans,
Old lovers feel as if newly met.
Together holding deep wishes, they pray to Heaven's work,
That the sun not sink in the sea, stars never turn.
The world celebrates the Cowherd and Weaver's joy,
Ornate towers a hundred feet tall rise to the sky.
Tassels hang, bamboo poles stir the cloudy shade,
Jade vessels, pearl plates arrayed with offerings.
Jars open with green wine, pure as empty air,
Autumn fills the void courtyard, air like water.
Children stay awake to watch the starry meet,
White light flickering, shaking flying pennants.
Straightening clothes, bowing heads, they pray from deep hearts,
Before praying, they burn incense and bow again.
Dawn's faint light moves the Dipper's cart,
Fine drizzling rain laments the parting.
In heaven, they should share the phoenix lute,
On earth, we rejoice to see spider threads.
In empty halls, a wild old man, hair white as snow,
Seeks not cleverness, but prays for clumsiness.