The night is the colour of Spring mists.

The lamp-flower falls.

And the flame bursts out brightly.

In the midst of the disorder of the dressing-table

Lies a black eye-stone.

As she dances,

A golden hairpin drops to the ground.

She peeps over her fan,

Arch, coquettish, welcoming his arrival.

Then suddenly striking the strings of her table-lute,

She sings—

But what is the rain of Sorceress Gorge

Doing by the shore of the Western Sea?