| 英譯： |
My hair had just begun to cover my forehead
And I was picking flowers for fun in front of my gate
When you came by, riding your bamboo horse,
And we played with green plums around the bench.
We both lived in the village of Changgan
And we completely trusted one another.
At the age of fourteen I became your wife,
With diffident looks, unable yet to smile.
I hung my head and faced a darkened wall
And did not turn round however often you called.
At fifteen I started to look more happy,
And hoped we’d be one even when turned to dust.
I always trusted you to hold on fast and stay –
No need to keep watch in a tower for a husband away.
Then when I was sixteen you went on a long journey
Up through the Qutang gorge with its Yanyu rocks,
Where in the fifth month the boatmen cannot pass,
And you hear apes mournfully crying from the sky.
One by one your old footprints outside our gate
Were overgrown with green moss.
The moss became too deep to sweep away,
And an early autumn breeze brought falling leaves.
In the eighth month butterflies came,
A pair of them over the grass in the west garden.
This moved me so it broke my aching heart;
Then I was downcast and my looks faded with age.
Whenever you do come back from Sanba
Write a letter beforehand to let us know.
I’ll come and meet you, no matter how far it is,
Even up as far as Long Wind Sand.
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