to the tune of
Beautiful Lady Yu
Li Hou Zhu (937-978?)
The Spring Flowers. The Fall Moon. When will it end—the past?
The tower again. Last night again. Again the wind from the east.
The empire is lost. And I would rather not look back at the moonlight's center:
The jade hand-rails are still engraved. Only the owner's face has changed.
You ask how much—how much sorrow?
Like a river in spring, the waters swell to the east.
translated by Ken Chen
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