The west wind sweeps away the lingering summer heat,
A faint moon pales the early autumn sky.
Legend says the Weaving Maid Star,
Tonight weds the Herd Boy on high.
Gracefully, magpies form a bridge in flight,
Majestically, the dragon-carriage stands bright.
How many girls praying for needlecraft skill,
Laugh and chat while threading needles with will.
I once observed the stars at dead of night,
And pondered their courses with careful insight.
Only the five planets, in their celestial race,
Move forward or backward, shifting time and space.
The twenty-eight constellations, fixed and clear,
Like jewels on a crown, appear year after year.
Eternal and solemn, never do they sway,
Arrayed across the twelve zones, they hold their way.
The countless other stars, in brilliant display,
Fill the void with a dazzling, sparkling array.
Good or ill omens surely have their cause,
On whether the ruler's virtue meets the laws.
Why alone the Herd Boy and Weaving Maid,
Are not like other stars in heaven's brigade?
Then I know that we mortals here below,
Seek spouses and in tender bonds grow.
Du Fu, hailed as poet-historian of his age,
Searched all phenomena, turning every page.
He also said they cross the bridge each year,
Why fret about the autumn meeting, dear?
That Liu Zongyuan, with clumsy art,
Did not for himself a clever plan impart.
He followed winding paths, a sideward quest,
And mimicked children's pleas, like all the rest.
Who first proposed this heretical lore,
Wild and absurd, to spread forevermore?
Lewd tales were passed down, one to another,
Gradually making the verses float and smother.
If a fairy raft could carry me on high,
I'd soar through the empty vast of the sky.
I'd bow again to these two stars divine,
To wash away the ancient shame, yours and mine.
The heavens are too lofty to question or implore,
The Milky Way just flows west, forevermore.