To The Tune Of Complint Against The Prince Poem by Li Qingzhao

Over the lake the breeses come, waves expand, hight and far.
Autumn approaches its end, blossoms are scanty and fragrance rare.
Water lustrous, mountains bright -hued show their affection and friendliness to us mortals.

Words arenever sufficient to describe

The boundless beauty of nature, Lotus seeds are ripe, leaves are old. Dew drops, clear and cool, have washed and duckweek flowers and sprinkled the grass on the islets.
Heorns, resting on the sand, do not turn their heads,
As if they, too, hate to see
People leave so soon.