LI QINGZHAO

To the Tune of Ru Meng Ling

Last night the rain was light, the wind fierce,

And deep sleep did not dispel the effects of wine.

When I ask the maid rolling up the curtains,

She answers, "The crab-apple blossoms look the same."

I cry, "Can't you see? Can't you see?

The green leaves are fresh but the red flowers are fading!"

To The Tune Of Wu Ling Spring Late Spring

Wind ceased, the dust is scented with fallen flowers.

Though day is getting late, I am too weary

to attend my hair.

Things remain as ever, yet his is here no more,

and all is finished.

Fain wound I speak, but tar flow first.

They say that at the Twin Brooks spring is still fiar.

I, too, wish to row a boat there.

But I am afraid that the little skiff

on the Twin Brooks

Could not bear the heavy load of my grief.

To The Tune Of To Rouge The Lips

Lonely in my secluded chamber,

A thousand sorrows fill every inch

of my sensitive being.

Regretting that spring has so soon passed,

That rain drops have hastened the falling flowers,

I lean over the balustrade,

Weary and depressed.

Where is my beloved?

Only the fading grassland

stretches endlessly toward the horizon;

Anxiously I watch the road for your return.

Sorrow of Departure

Red lotus incense fades on

The jeweled curtain. Autumn

Comes again. Gently I open

My silk dress and float alone

On the orchid boat. Who can

Take a letter beyond the clouds?

Only the wild geese come back

And write their ideograms

On the sky under the full

Moon that floods the West Chamber.

Flowers, after their kind, flutter

And scatter. Water after

Its nature, when spilt, at last

Gathers again in one place.

Creatures of the same species

Long for each other. But we

Are far apart and I have

Grown learned in sorrow.

Nothing can make it dissolve

And go away. One moment,

It is on my eyebrows.

The next, it weighs on my heart.