Smoke disperses from the gold incense burner like calligraphy from a brush. I
am intoxicated by the fragrant smell. The shades in the yard reverses its
direction at noon. It is quiet in the parlor. Where is my noble and virtuous
lover? All I can see on the path is scattered poplar flowers. I toss and turn on
my pillow with longing. Outside the bamboo-blind, the fallen flowers show that
Spring has gone. I feel bored. My hangover makes me sick and tired. My
cloud-shaped hair is disheveled, but I have no desire to comb it.
I should not recall the past when we were south of the Yangtze River. In
order to search for you, I have gone to the end of the world. Because I do not
know your whereabouts, it is difficult for me to ask a wild goose to send you my
letter. The west tower is filled with moonlight. I have leaned against the
banister for a long time. The date of your return is still uncertain. I fear
that you will be like a bottle falling into a well 1. Your neighing
horse has not come. The candlelight looks dim. It is all in vain that my
yearning drives me back and forth under a phoenix tree. Who will be my companion
when I face a decorative mirror?
The poem "The Joy of Merchants" says, "When we trade, we write letters to
each other./When we do not, we care about each other./ Be not like a bottle
falling into a well:/ Don't fail to come back when you leave."