A Woman Of Quality

Matchless in breeding and beauty,

a fine lady has taken refuge

in this forsaken valley.

She is of good family, she says,

but her fortune has withered away;

now she lives as the grass and trees.

When the heartlands fell to the rebels

her brothers were put to death;

birth and position availed nothing--

she was not even allowed

to bring home their bones for burial.

The world turns quickly against

those who have had their day--

fortune is a lamp-flame

flickering in the wind.

Her husband is a fickle fellow

who has a lovely new woman.

Even the vetch-tree is more constant,

folding its leaves every dusk,

and mandarin ducks

always sleep with their mates.

But he has eyes only

for his new woman's smile,

and his ears are deaf

to his first wife's weeping.

High in the mountains

spring water is clear as truth,

but when it reaches the lowlands

it is muddied with rumor.

Her serving-maid returns

from selling her pearls;

she drags a creeper over

to cover holes in the roof.

The flowers the lady picks

are not for her hair,

and the handfuls of cypress

are a bitter stay against hunger.

Her pretty blue sleeves

are too thin for the cold;

as evening falls

she leans on the tall bamboo.