The Maiden of Witch Mountain now departs
Behind a screen of clouds,
In spring a breeze blows flowers of pine
Down from the mountainside
Alone beneath her emerald canopy she returns
Through fragrant paths,
White horses and flower-decked poles
Dazzle before her.

On the River of Shu blows a limpid wind,
Water like gauze,
Who will float on a fallen orchid
To come to see her?
A cassia tree on a southern hill
Is dying for her,
Her robes of cloud are slightly stained
By its rouged petals.