Analysis of Tz'u No. 7

To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream"

Let not the deep cup be filled
  with rich, amber-colored wine;
My mind was eased of sorrow
  even before I was drunk.
Distant bells have already echoed
  in the evening breeze.

My dream is broken
  as the scent of incense vanishes.
Too small, the hairpin of the gold
  of warding-off-cold
     loosens its hold of my tresses.

I awake to find myself blankly facing
  the red flickering glow
     of the candle.