Peony
At morning she is flushed with wine,
And in the evening she dyes her dress.
Rich is the fragrance of her sleeves,
Imperial is her loveliness.
And in the evening she dyes her dress.
Rich is the fragrance of her sleeves,
Imperial is her loveliness.
She decks her ears with pearls at dawn.
She laughs at the green willow's grief,
And when her time has come, she falls
Filled with a radiant disbelief.
She laughs at the green willow's grief,
And when her time has come, she falls
Filled with a radiant disbelief.
