Who is lovelier than she? Yet she lives alone in an empty valley. She tells me she came from a good family Which is humbled now into the dust. …When trouble arose in the Kuan district, Her brothers and close kin were killed. What use were their high offices, Not even shielding their own lives? — The world has but scorn for adversity; Hope goes out, like the light of a candle. Her husband, with a vagrant heart, Seeks a new face like a new piece of jade; And when morning-glories furl at night And mandarin-ducks lie side by side, All he can see is the smile of the new love, While the old love weeps unheard. The brook was pure in its mountain source, But away from the mountain its waters darken. …Waiting for her maid to come from selling pearls For straw to cover the roof again, She picks a few flowers, no longer for her hair, And lets pine-needles fall through her fingers, And, forgetting her thin silk sleeve and the cold, She leans in the sunset by a tall bamboo.
