| 英譯： |
My hair could hardly cover my forehead,
I was plucking flowers near the door;
Then you came riding a bamboo horse
And threw green plums near my bed.
A long while we lived together at Chang-kan village,
And we were innocent, without passion or desire.
At fourteen I became your wife.
I was so modest that I dared not smile.
I lowered my head into a dark corner.
Though you called me a thousand times, I would not look at you.
At fifteen I composed my eyebrows:
With you I was willing to be dust and ashes.
For your sake I would die on the pillar;
Having you, why should I mount the watching tower?
At sixteen, you went on a journey.
The waves on Chu-tang gorge were crushed against Yen-yu rock.
These rapids are not passable in rainy May—
Only the monkeys lamenting against the sky!
Before the door, where you went away,
Each footprint is overgrown with green moss—
So deep it is, none can sweep it away.
The first autumn wind added the falling leaves.
Then in September the yellow butterflies
Hovering in pairs over the grass in the west courtyard:
Seeing them, my heart aches.
Must I wait sorrowfully, seeing my red cheeks fading?
Some day, when you leave Three Pa district,
Please write home a letter beforehand,
For though I cannot walk a long distance,
I will come to meet you in Long Wind Sands.
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