The Jade Mountain
When you, my lover, on a bamboo horse,Came trotting in circles and throwing green plums.We lived near together on a lane in Ch'ang-kan,Both of us young and happy-hearted.. . . At fourteen I became your wife,So bashful that I dared not smile,And I lowered my head toward a dark cornerAnd would not turn to your thousand calls;But at fifteen I straightened my brows and laughed,Learning that no dust could ever seal our love,That even unto death I would await you by my postAnd would never lose heart in the tower of silent watching.. . . Then when I was sixteen, you left on a long journeyThrough the Gorges of Ch'i-t'ang, of rock and whirling water.And then came the Fifth-month, more than I could bear,And I tried to hear the monkeys in your lofty far-off sky.Your footprints by our door, where I had watched you go,Were hidden, every one of them, under green moss,Hidden under moss too deep to sweep away.And the first autumn wind added fallen leaves.And now, in the Eighth-month, yellowing butterfliesHover, two by two, in our west-garden grasses. . . .And, because of all this, my heart is breakingAnd I fear for my bright cheeks, lest they fade.. . . Oh, at last, when you return through the three Pa districts,Send me a message home ahead!And I will come and meet you and will never mind the distance,All the way to Chang-fêng Sha.
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