I.
In cold rains cicadas shrill,
red leaves shaking, drearily still.
At the Hour of Great Waste (sky’s sun-ray laced)
A hundred Li’s away from Tongguan’s lofty gates
We part our ways amongst the barren hills

II.
When I plucked flowers from my crisscrossed hair,
(they were still blooming like yesteryear’s pear)
Your carriage passed by my garden, whips lashed
on your steeds (in golden halters they're restrained).

My Lord you were young, without fear or suspicion,
Could still dance and swirl, or play jewelled zither
I (too young to be your lady) knew not what sorrow is
Had only drank tender tea, picked from last pentad.

III.
Fifty strings on zither play in vain
Thunder cloud brings a sudden rain
At the hour Ying and Yang entwined
Tears rolling, my sight they blind.