Passionate Grief
BY LI T'AI-PO
Beautiful is this woman who rolls up the pearl-reed blind.
She sits in an inner chamber,
And her eyebrows, delicate as a moth's antennae,
Are drawn with grief.
One sees only the wet lines of tears.
For whom does she suffer this misery?
We do not know.
Beautiful is this woman who rolls up the pearl-reed blind.
She sits in an inner chamber,
And her eyebrows, delicate as a moth's antennae,
Are drawn with grief.
One sees only the wet lines of tears.
For whom does she suffer this misery?
We do not know.
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