Written in the Character of a Beautiful Woman Grieving Before Her Mirror (II)

When my Lord went away, he gave me this precious mirror coiled with dragons
That I might gaze at my golden-threaded dress of silken gauze.
Again and again I take my red sleeve and polish the bright moon.
Because I love to see its splendour lighting up everything.
In its centre is my reflection, and the golden magpie which does not fly away.
I sit at my dressing-stand, and I am like the green Fire-Bird who, thinking of its mate, died alone.
My husband is parted from me as an arrow from the bowstring.
I know the day he left; I do not know the year when he will return.
The cruel wind blows--truly the heart of the Unworthy One is cut to pieces.
My tears, like white jade chop-sticks, fall in a single piece before the water-chestnut mirror.