The pendant willows strew the court, for thee I pull them down;
The falling flowers enrich the earth, none pick these from the ground
And scatter vernal growth, as once, before the ancestral tomb!
Taking the lute of Tsun I strive to chase away the gloom
By thrumming, as I muse of thee, songs of departed friends.
Sending my inmost thoughts away, they reach the northern ends—
Those northern bounds!—how far they seem, o’erpassed the hills and streams.
No news, no word from those confines to lighten e’en my dreams!
My dress, my pillow, once so white, are deeply stained with tears;
My broidered coat with gilded flowers, all spotted now appears.