Autumn is Late in the tune of Yuanwangsun
by Li Qingzhao
Winds come on the lake, waves at a stretch.
Autumn is late with scarce red and less fragrance.
Hue on water, color of mountains endearing to human.
Speaking no end of infinite good.
Lotus seeds ripe, lotus leaves becoming old.
Clear dews washing apple blossoms and weeds on shoals.
Seagulls sleeping on sands won't turn back their heads,
As if also hating people return so early.