Li Qingzhao


To the Tune of Happy Event Is Nigh

	The wind ceases; fallen flowers pile high.

	Outside my screen, petals collect in heaps of red
	   and snow-white.

	This reminds me that after the blooming
	   of the cherry-apple tree.

	It is time of lament the dying spring.

	Singing and drinking have come to an end;
	   jade cups are empty;

	 Lamps are flickering.

	 Hardly able to bear the sorrows and regrets
	    of my dreams,

	 I hear the mournful cry of the cuckoo. Lucy Chow Ho