The jewels my hair adorning
Are glistening with the dew;
But still my lover tarries;—
What keeps him from my view?
A gentle breeze is blowing,
The night is bright as day;
I'll go and gather lilies,
And meet him on the way.
In the early Autumn season
The lotus lilies red
Are in the south pool growing,
And reach above my head.
My thoughts on old times musing,
I stoop to pluck some seeds,
In their shimmering greenness
As water 'mongst the reeds.
I put some in my bosom,
For the core is red as blood,
As the heart of a true lover,
When love is at the flood.
Pressed to my bosom closely—
No safer place, I wot,
For tokens of betrothal;
And yet my love comes not!
Above my head in batches
The wild geese northward hie,
And they will pass o'er Si-chow!
Oh, would that I could fly!
I'll mount the northern turret;
Perhaps from that lofty height
I'll see my lover coming,
The herald of the light.
Although the tower is lofty,
I cannot see afar
To where my love is dwelling,
Beneath the Northern Star.
From morn until the evening—
How long the hours do seem!—
I've paced around the turret,
As in a weary dream.