In the Quiet Night<br>The bright moonlight in front of the bed is suspected to be frost on the ground.<br>Raising my head, I see the moon so bright; withdrawing my eyes, my nostalgia comes around.
Thoughts in the Still of the Night<br> So bright a gleam on the foot of my bed. Could there have been a frost already?<br> I raise my head to gaze at the moon, Lowering my head, my nostalgia comes around.