I once lived in Handan, years still young,
Just shy and coy, playing with flowers and birds.
By the main road, the blue tower with green gauze,
Green willows at dusk, wind gently sways.
Lovely jade-like beauty, just past sixteen,
Pitying my own looks, less than flowers.
My fair quality wholly surpasses the Qin maiden,
Why should my husband need a fiefdom to dwell?
Years go, years come, age gradually grows,
Youth, rouge and powder, all worthy of admiration.
In jade tower with pearl screens, merely idle living,
How could I come and go on southern or eastern streets?
Splendid light, day by day, seen growing late,
The plum has fallen, marriage has its time.
Who knew a graceful maiden of Yan and Zhao,
Would instead marry a roaming knight of You and Bing?
Year after year, outfitting the black-maned steed,
He goes out the door—when will he arrive?
Autumn moon vainly hangs beyond the jadeite blind,
Spring curtain, lazy lying under the mandarin duck quilt.
From desert frontier, long no letter sent,
Deep boudoir, lonely sorrow—how does it feel?
Before flowers, wiping tears, feeling boundless,
Under moonlight, tuning the zither, regret remains.
Parting's bitterness much, meetings few,
The bridal chamber's sorrowful dream—how to know dawn?
Idly watching paired swallows, tears fall thick,
Quietly facing the empty bed, soul is silent.
In the mirror, my rosy face I cannot restrain,
On the road, a fragrant rider stirs spring heart.
I ask when the happy date, sooner or later, will be—
Everyone always understands there is gold.