Li Qingzhao


To the Tune of To Rouge the Lips

	Lonely in my secluded chamber,

	A thousand sorrows fill every inch
	   of my sensitive being.

	Regretting that spring has so soon passed,

	That rain drops have hastened the falling folowers,

	I lean over the balustrade,
		Weary and depressed.

	Where is my beloved?

	Only the fading grassland
	   stretches endlessly toward the horizon;

	Anxiously I watch the road for your return. Lucy Chow Ho