As the sunlight dims, the view expands,
I return home and relax under the eaves.
The clear weather clouds are like cotton shreds,
The new moon seems a sharpened sickle.
Excitement for the open unbidden starts,
Thoughts of decorum I've long deplored.
I'm alive, we can go hand in hand,
Lamenting that our years are running over.
Han Yü (768-824)