From distant lands, envoys of Han came to court,
The ministers then lacked a clever, bold resort.
A flower in the Purple Palace, pure and bright,
By jealous winds of spring was blown down from its height.
Her fate cast down to shades, with ghosts she must consort,
Looking back to the Jade Emperor's Purple Court.
Old grief and new, as deep as the Eastern Sea,
The oriole's tongue is torn, lamenting spring's decree.
The fairest beauty south of the River, praised by all,
By Yuan invaders was captured, to the desert's thrall.
Some were wed off, some sold for false titles and gain,
On flying steeds they crossed the world, in endless pain.
Years passed, they bore children and found a kind of cheer,
With love's warm wings, they sighed not, forgetting fear.
If they knew rites and honor, they could not depart,
Or chose to die, their souls returning to their heart.
The officials of Deyou, like Ji and Xie of old,
With bellies full of Neo-Confucian doctrines bold.
Yet they forsook their lord and father, followed treason's way,
Then taught their wives and concubines chastity to obey.
Some men grow old but never learn what's right or wrong,
While young girls wish to guard their virtue, firm and strong.
Heaven-born integrity cannot be taught by art,
In perilous times, rare are those with a steadfast heart.
She fulfilled wifely duties, taught her son with care,
Like Wang Ling's mother, or Wang Ning's wife, beyond compare.
What woman in this world could ever match her grace?
We only grieve when Zhaojun mounted, leaving her place.
Her beauty faded, the Chanyu died in his turn,
Her soul returned ten thousand miles, her body left to burn.
The Moon Goddess Chang'e is now but dust and clay,
Should see the green mound, and her twin tears fall today.