A SONG OF GRIEF
Florence Wheelock Ayscough translation
BY PAN CHIEH-YÜ
Glazed silk, newly cut, smooth, glittering, white, As white, as clear, even as frost and snow. Perfectly fashioned into a fan, Round, round, like the brilliant moon, Treasured in my Lord's sleeve, taken out, put in— Wave it, shake it, and a little wind flies from it. How often I fear the Autumn Season's coming And the fierce, cold wind which scatters the blazing heat. Discarded, passed by, laid in a box alone; Such a little time, and the thing of love cast off.