Li Qingzhao (1084-1151)
To the Tune of A Sprig of Plum Blossom
The
fragrance of the pink
lotus
fails, the
jade mat hints of
autumn.
Softly I unfasten my
silk cloak,
Who is sending a
letter from
among the
clouds?
When the swan message returns,
the
balcony is flooded with
moonlight.
The
blossoms drift on, the
water flows.
There is the same
yearning of the heart,
But it abides in two places.
There is
no way to drive away this yearning:
Driven from the
eyebrows,
It lodges in the
heart.