Li Yu (937-938)
Ci to the tune of "
Happiness of Meeting"
Wordless, alone, I go upstairs to the western chamber.
The moon is like a sickle.
The lonely trees in the courtyard are
locked up there with the autumn night.
Scissors do not sever
Nor reason unravel
The pain of separation.
It lodges in the heart
with a taste all its own.