I hum softly "On the Clear Streams Flies the Night Frost."
It is said that, long ago, on the Ox Island Hill, songs were sung which blended the five colours.
Now do I not equal Hsieh, and the youth of the House of Yüan?
The bitter bamboos make a cold sound, swaying in the Autumn moonlight.
I pass the night alone, desolate behind the reed-blinds, and dream of returning to my distant home.
THE "LOOKING-FOR-HUSBAND" ROCK
BY LI T'AI-PO
In the attitude, and with the manner, of the woman of old,