WRITTEN IN THE CHARACTER OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN GRIEVING BEFORE HER MIRROR

I Bright, bright, the gilded magpie mirror, Absolutely perfect in front of me on the jade dressing-stand. Wiped, rubbed, splendid as the Winter moon; Its light and brilliance, how clear and round! The rose-red face is older than it was yesterday, The hair is whiter than it was last year. The white-lead powder is neglected, It is useless to look into the mirror. I am utterly miserable. II When my Lord went away, he gave me this precious mirror coiled with dragons That I might gaze at my golden-threaded dress of silken gauze. Again and again I take my red sleeve and polish the bright moon. Because I love to see its splendour lighting up everything. In its centre is my reflection, and the golden magpie which does not fly away. I sit at my dressing-stand, and I am like the green Fire-Bird who, thinking of its mate, died alone. My husband is parted from me as an arrow from the bowstring. I know the day he left; I do not know the year when he will return. The cruel wind blows—truly the heart of the Unworthy One is cut to pieces. My tears, like white jade chop-sticks, fall in a single piece before the water-chestnut mirror.