拟古

That beauty like a flower, fair and bright,

Like a flower yet also like jade, pure and white.

She married a soldier, a man bound for the fray,

Their partings are long, their joyful hours brief and slight.

She adorns herself with a pitiable grace,

In emerald sleeves, she holds her lonely, quiet space.

No word comes from the courier at Flying Fox Pass,

Not a scrap of a letter from the Jiaohe, alas.

Spring dresses Gong's plum trees in a profuse array,

The wind sways Qin's trees, turning their leaves green and gay.

Grass grows thick and wild, a lush and tangled mass,

Who can tell the good herbs from the weeds, alas?

Amidst weeping, flowers bear their seeds and pass,

In sorrow's midst, bamboo shoots grow into bamboo, alas.

Raindrops tap on the kingfisher-green bed screen,

The moon climbs, shines on the quilt where cold crickets convene.

She knows a little of the frivolous, wayward ways,

Yet can she forget the gentle, virtuous days?

The new wife is skilled in weaving, though uneven her art,

The former wife is diligent at the loom, playing her part.

Excess and blockage become the agents of disease,

The warp and weft of life should have their boundaries, please.

I offer these bitter words to you, my lord, with care,

My lord, you should ponder them, again and again, with care.

But if I tell you, and you still do not understand,

I'll tend my orchids and chrysanthemums, here on my own land.