• 《花有淚》 The tears of flowers
The flowers have tears: the moon herself is scathless.
O Moon, thou seest how shrunken our flower-face has grown.
Pity that when thou, O Moon, art full, we flowers are wont to fade.
So, though thy cassia be fragrant and thine orb be round, thou hast a shadow but no root in reality.
Methinks the season of blossoming is but one score and four solar terms: how easy it is, then, to reach the end thereof!
The shock of wild wind and quick rain drives broken my whole body.
In that day thou, in the ninth heaven beyond the clouds, still wilt bear the heart’s mutual imprint.
Albeit thou seek east and west, how canst thou save us from falling in a littered mat of petals?
Say not that the transient flowers and vapour are of no moment.
I only grieve that I have suffered men to pluck me down and snap me: I cannot but think of my past fate.
Now the cloud-roads are so distant, that I know entreaty to be useless.
Ah! My heart is impatient.
Let me ask of the lovely Maid in the Moon:
‘Prithee, how spacious is the mansion of Kwong Hon Kung, that it can entomb so many masterless flower-spirits?’