Under deep-set layered curtains
in her Carefree Hall
She rests and then the quiet night-time
lingers slowly on.
It has always been a dream,
the life a goddess lives;
There’s really never been a lover
where the maiden dwells.
The windswept waves are not aware
that the chestnut stems are frail;
In moonlit dew who gets the cassia
leaves to smell so fine?
Although we say that out of love
there’s nothing to be gained
We have yet to stop the heartache
of this crazy passion.