Her streaming, streaming tears are exhausted—to the West of the Ch'u Barrier.
A WOMAN SINGS TO THE AIR: "SITTING AT NIGHT"
BY LI T'AI-PO
A Winter night, a cold Winter night. To me, the night is unending.
I chant heavily to myself a long time. I sit, sit in the North Hall.
The water in the well is solid with ice. The moon enters the Women's Apartments.
The flame of the gold lamp is very small, the oil is frozen. It shines on the misery of my weeping.
The gold lamp goes out,