To the Tune of LIKE A DREAM
I always remember the sunset
over the pavalion by the river.
So tipsy, we could not find our way home.
Our interest exhausted, the evening late,
we tried to turn the boat homeward.
By mistake, we entered deep within the lotus bed.
Row! Row the boat!
A flock of herons, frightened,
suddenly flew skyward.
To the Tune of LIKE A DREAM
Last night a sprinkling of rain,
a violent wind.
After a deep sleep, still not recovered
from the lingering effect of wine,
I inquired of the one rolling up the screen;
But the answer came: "The cherry-apple blossoms
are still the same."
"Oh, don't you know, don't you know?
The red must be getting thin,
while the green is becoming plump."
To the Tune of TO ROUGE THE LIPS
Lonely in my secluded chamber,
A thousand sorrows fill every inch
of my sensitive being.
Regretting that spring has so soon passed,
That rain drops have hastened the falling flowers,
I lean over the balustrade,
Weary and depressed.
Where is my beloved?
Only the fading grassland
stretches endlessly toward the horizon;
Anxiously I watch the road for your return.
To the Tune of RINSING SILK STREAM
My courtyard is small, windows idle,
spring is getting old.
Screens unrolled cast heavy shadows.
In my upper-story chamber, speechless,
I play on my jasper lute.
Clouds rising from distant mountains
hasten the fall of dusk.
Gentle wind and drizzling rain
cause a pervading gloom.
Pear blossoms can hardly keep from withering,
but droop.
To the Tune of BODHISATTVA ALIENS
Soft breeses, mild sunshine,
sring is still young.
The sudden change to light apparel
brightened my spirit.
But upon awakening from slumber,
I felt the cilly air;
The plum flower withered in my hair.
Where can I call my native land?
Forget - I can not, except in wine
when I drown my care.
Incense was lighted when I went to sleep;
Though the embers are now cold,
the warmth of wine still holds.
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