Songs from the Chinese Poets: Set IV

The last red leaves droop sadly o'er the slain;
In the long tower my cup of wine I drain,
Watching the mist-flocks driven through the hills,
And great blown roses ravished by the rain.

The beach tints linger down the frontier line,
And sounding waters shimmer to the brine;
Over the Yellow Kingdom breaks the sun,
Yet dreams, and woodlands, and the chase are mine.

Clad in blue silk and bright embroidery
At the first call of Spring the fair young bride,
On whom as yet Sorrow has laid no scar,
Climbs the Kingfisher's Tower. Suddenly
She sees the bloom of willows far and wide,
And grieves for him she lent to fame and war.

They gather lilies down the stream,
A net of willows drooping low
Hides boat from boat; and to and fro
Sweet whispered confidences seem
    'Mid laughing trills to flow.

 ... 

But who are these, the cavaliers
That gleam along the river-side?
By three, by five they prance with pride
Beyond the willow-line that sheers
    Over the trellised tide.

A charger neighs; one turns to start,
Crushing the kingcups as he flies,
And one pale maiden vainly tries
To hush the tumult in her heart
    And veil the secret of her eyes.

A gale goes ruffling down the stream,
The giants of the forest crack;
My thoughts are bitter -- black as death --
For he, my lover, comes not back.

A hundred years like water glide,
Riches and rank are ashen cold,
Daily the dream of peace recedes:
By whom shall Sorrow be consoled?

The soldier, dauntless, draws his sword,
And there are tears and endless pain;
The winds arise, leaves flutter down,
And through the old thatch drips the rain.

From silver lamps a thin blue smoke is streaming,
And golden vases 'mid the feast are gleaming;
    Now sound the lutes in unison,
    Within the gates our lives are one.
    We'll think not of the parting ways
        As long as dawn delays.

When in tall trees the dying moonbeams quiver:
When floods of fire efface the Silver River,
    Then comes the hour when I must seek
    Lo-Yang beyond the furthest peak.
    But the warm twilight round us twain
        Will never rise again.