SUNG TO THE TUNE OF "THE UNRIPE HAWTHORN BERRY"
BY NIU HSI-CHI
Mist is trying to hide the Spring-coloured hills,
The sky is pale, the stars are scattered and few.
The moon is broken and fading, yet there is light on your face,
These are the tears of separation, for now it is bright dawn.
We have said many words,
But our passion is not assuaged.
Turn your head, I have still something to say:
Remember my skirt of green open-work silk,
The sweet-scented grasses everywhere will prevent your forgetting.
WRITTEN BY WANG WEI, IN THE MANNER
OF CHIA, THE (PALACE) SECRETARY,
AFTER AN IMPERIAL AUDIENCE
AT DAWN IN THE "PALACE
OF GREAT BRILLIANCE"
At the first light of the still-concealed sun, the Cock-man, in his dark-red cap, strikes the tally-sticks and proclaims aloud the hour.
At this exact moment, the Keeper of the Robes sends in the eider-duck skin dress, with its cloud-like curving feather-scales of kingfisher green.
In the Ninth Heaven, the Ch'ang Ho Gate opens; so do those of the Palaces, and the Halls of Ceremony in the Palaces.
The ten thousand kingdoms send their ambassadors in the dresses and caps of their ranks to do reverence before the pearl-stringed head-dress.
The immediately-arrived sun tips the "Immortal Palm"; it glitters.
Sweet-scented smoke rises and flows about the Emperor's ceremonial robes, making the dragons writhe.
The audience ended, I wish to cut the paper of five colours and write upon it the words of the Son of Heaven.
My jade girdle-ornaments clash sweetly as I return to sit beside the Pool of the Crested Love-Pheasant.