As autumn mountains
Tinged with scarlet were you, maiden,
A pliable bamboo,
Supply bending, lady,
Of what
Were you thinking?
A rope of hemp
Should stretch your life long;
The dew
Falls with the morning
And with the evening
Vanishes, 'tis said;
The mist
Rises with the evening
And with the morn
Is lost, 'tis said;
As a catalpa bow,
The rumours, I, too, heard them, and
Saw you only briefly.
How sad:
As folded linen,
Pillowed on your arm,
A well-honed sword,
His body by yours in sleep,
As young grass,
Is your husband.
How lonely must he be ?
With thoughts of you will he sleep,
Grieving;
Fondly feeling,
It was not your time,
And you are gone, oh lady,
As is the morning dew,
As is the evening mist.