English poetry

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Tz'u No. 7

To the tune of “Rinsing Silk Stream”

Let not the deep cup be filled
With rich, amber-colored wine;
My mind was eased of sorrow
Even before I was drunk.
Distant bells have already echoed
In the evening breeze.

My dream is broken
As the scent of incense vanishes.
Too small, the hairpin of the gold
Of warding-off-cold
Loosens its hold of my tresses.

I awake to find myself blankly facing
The red flickering glow
Of the candle.


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Poem Tz'u No. 7 - Li Ching Chao