Alone

What do these halls of jasper mean, and shining floor,
Where tapestries of satin screen window and door?
A lady on a lonely seat, embroidering
Fair flowers which seem to smell as sweet as buds in spring.
Swallows flit past, a zephyr shakes the plum-blooms down-,
She draws the blind, a goblet takes her thoughts to drown.
And now she sits in tears, or hums, nursing her grief
That in her life joy rarely comes to bring relief
Oh for the humble turtle's flight, my mate and I;
Not the lone crane far out of sight beyond the sky!