Tune: “Sand of Silk-washing Stream”
Date-flowers fall in showers on my hooded head,
At both ends of the village wheels are spinning thread,
A straw-cloak’d man sells cucumber beneath a willow tree.
Wine-drowsy when the road is long, I yawn for bed;
Throat parched when sun is high, I long for tea,
I’ll knock at this door. What have they for me?