The lotus has wilted, only a faint perfume remains;

On the bamboo mat there’s a touch of autumn chill.

Softly I take off my silk dress

And step on board my orchid skiff alone.

Who is sending me the letter of brocade

From beyond the clouds?

When the wild geese return**

The moon will be flooding the West Chamber.

Flowers fall and drift away,

Water glides on,

After their nature.

Our yearning is the sort

Both sides far apart endure–

A melancholy feeling there there’s no resisting.

As soon as it leaves the eyebrows

It surges up in the breast*.

*cited: Ci-pomes of Li Qingzhao: A New English Translation, Sino-platonic Papers. No 13, October, 1989

**Wild geese were thought to be bearers of letters, especially love messages, because of their regular migrations from north to south and vice versa.