Spring, spring, has come, while yet the landscape bears
Its fleecy burden of unmelted snow!
Now may the zephyr gently ‘gin to blow,
To melt the nightingale’s sweet frozen tears.
Anon
Spring, spring, has come, while yet the landscape bears
Its fleecy burden of unmelted snow!
Now may the zephyr gently ‘gin to blow,
To melt the nightingale’s sweet frozen tears.
Anon
Here on one side of the stream I stand,
And gaze on my love on the other strand.
Oh ! not to be with her, what sadness!
Oh ! not to be with her, what madness!
If but a red-lacquered skiff were mine,
With paddles strewn over with pearls so fine,
Then would I pass the river,
And dwell with my love for ever!
Anon
Under the seal of tawny dust,
On a sheet of stone
Mottled and deadly green,
Was carved an image in an ancient costume:
I gazed upon her profile
And coldly gleamed,
Beneath her grave expression,
The trace of a silent smile.
An image on green stone you are,
Yet the bashful herb in the field resembles you.
CHEN MÊNG-CHIA.