A Long Drone
By Li Qinghzao
Tr. Zhao Yanchyun
Where, how? Where,how? So chill, so cold. Sad,l bow; sad l bow.
The lash of early spring, hard, hard enow.
Just a few cups of wine, I can’t bear the harsh eve sough.
Wildgeese fly while I sigh, which I saw last year as now.
Daisies all fall aground, withered now.
Which does picking allow? Beside the sill, in darkness I feel ill.
Th’ parasol tree and rain,
At dusk drip, and drip again.
Here and now, how can I bear the grief, how?