Tune: "Spring in the Painted Hall"
Fallen petals carpet the garden walk,
The pond full to the brim.
Fine rain drizzles, mocking the sun;
The apricot orchard languishing where cuckoos cry.
Spring will soon be fled,
Do what one may.
Alone I ascend the painted pavilion beyond the willows,
And twist a spray of bloom leaning against the balustrade.
Wordless, I let drop the flower, facing the declining sun:
The pain in my heart—who will know?
The pond full to the brim.
Fine rain drizzles, mocking the sun;
The apricot orchard languishing where cuckoos cry.
Spring will soon be fled,
Do what one may.
Alone I ascend the painted pavilion beyond the willows,
And twist a spray of bloom leaning against the balustrade.
Wordless, I let drop the flower, facing the declining sun:
The pain in my heart—who will know?
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