Classic Poem

The Prince of Huainan,
craving long life,
tried elixirs and breath control, studied the Classic of the Immortals;
of lapis lazuli his bowls, of ivory his plates;
in golden cauldrons with spoons of jade mixing magic cinnabar,
mixing magic cinnabar,
sporting in purple rooms,
purple rooms where bright-robed ladies toyed with earrings of pearl,
sang like the luan bird, danced like phoenixes—
 how they broke my lord's heart!
Nine gates to the vermilion city, each with nine small portals;
I want to chase the bright moon, to enter my lord's bosom,
enter my lord's bosom,
twine myself at his sash
I hate my lord, I curse my lord, I wait for my lord's love
May it be firm as a builded city, may it be keen as swords;
may I flourish with him, wane with him, and never be cut off!