  BY LI T'AI-PO When the hair of your Unworthy One first began to cover her forehead, She picked flowers and played in front of the door. Then you, my Lover, came riding a bamboo horse. We ran round and round the bed, and tossed about the sweetmeats of green plums. We both lived in the village of Ch'ang Kan. We were both very young, and knew neither jealousy nor suspicion. At fourteen, I became the wife of my Lord. I could not yet lay aside my face of shame; I hung my head, facing the dark wall; You might call me a thousand times, not once would I turn round. At fifteen, I stopped frowning. I wanted to be with you, as dust with its ashes. I often thought that you were the faithful man who clung to the bridge-post, That I should never be obliged to ascend to the Looking-for-Husband Ledge. When I was sixteen, my Lord went far away. To the Ch'Ü T'ang Chasm and the Whirling Water Rock of the YÜ River Which, during the Fifth Month, must not be collided with; Where the wailing of the gibbons seems to come from the sky. Your departing footprints are still before the door where I bade you good-bye, In each has sprung up green moss. The moss is thick, it cannot be swept away. The leaves are falling, it is early for the Autumn wind to blow. It is the Eighth Month, the butterflies are yellow, Two are flying among the plants in the West garden; Seeing them, my heart is bitter with grief, they wound the heart of the Unworthy One. The bloom of my face has faded, sitting with my sorrow. From early morning until late in the evening, you descend the Three Serpent River. Prepare me first with a letter, bringing me the news of when you will reach home. I will not go far on the road to meet you, I will go straight until I reach the Long Wind Sands. |
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