Classic Poem

Xi Shi dreaming at dawn,
In the cool of silken curtains,
Scented coils of her falling chignon,
Half aloes and sandalwood.

The turning windlass of the well,
Creaking like singing jade,
Wakes with a start this lotus-blossom,
That has newly slept its fill.

Twin simurghs open her mirror,
An autumn pool of light.
She loosens her tresses before the mirror,
Stands by her ivory bed.

A single skein of perfumed silk,
Clouds cast on the floor,
Noiseless, the jade comb lights upon
Her lustrous hair.

Delicate fingers push up the coils —
Color of an old rook's plumes,
Blue-black, so sleek the jeweled pins
Cannot hold it up.
Light-heartedly the spring breeze vexes
Her youthful languor,
Just eighteen, with hair so rich,
Her strength has fled.

Her coiffure over, the well-dressed chignon
Sits firm and does not slip.
In cloudy skirts, she takes a few steps,
A wild goose treading sand,
She turns away in silence —
Where is she off to now?
Just down the steps to pick herself
A spray of cherry blossom.