To The Tune Of Bodhisattiva Aliens Poem by Li Qingzhao

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.

The cry of returning wild geese has stopped; evening clouds look azure.
Snow is falling outside the windows, smoke from the chimney rises straight upward.
Under the candle-light glistens the phoenix hairpin,
On which the man-shaped ornament is light.
The sounding horn announces the approach of daybreak;
Stars are driven back by the light of early dawn.
It is difficult to enjoy spring flowers.
The west wind is still too cold.