Lament of the Crane

Wu silk and Shu brocade, a beauty in her prime, second only to one and above ten thousand. Losing her mother in childhood, brothers turning against each other, father and son suspicious of one another, ruler and ministers turning their blades. Beneath power, which branch can one cling to? Amid parting sorrow, which feeling can one entrust? Meeting you was never my wish. Since we have met, please light a lamp for me, to illuminate this thorny hell of splendor. By then, perhaps I can, together with you, in the late spring season, hand in hand ascend the southern mountain. To see the varied flowers blooming on the trees, to see the flocks of orioles flying wildly. To hear the cry of the cranes, and watch them tread the glass-like water surface to pieces, spread their wings, and fly into the blue sky.