Song of the Burial of Flowers
Cao Xueqin [Qing Dynasty]
Flowers fade and fall and fly about up in the sky,
But who pities the loss of your fragrance when you die?
Like gossamer you float and land on pavilions,
With your fallen petals clung soft to fine curtains.
In my boudoir I sigh over the close of spring,
But there’s no way to express my sorrowful feeling.
Spade in hand, I go out from under my fine curtain,
To and fro on fallen petals, how can I bear treading?
Willow twigs and elm buds send sweet scents as they may,
Who cares when peach and plum petals are in decay?
Next year peach and plum trees will be in bloom again,
But who will be the master of my boudoir then?
In March lunar swallows have got their nests ready,
They on the beam seem to be those without mercy.
Next year in their flight, fresh flowers they may peck, though,
All that they and I have will be lost, they never know.
There are three hundred and sixty days in one year,
With you the elements of nature are severe.
Time is not long for you to be bright and charming,
Your trace and track are hard to find in your drifting.
You are easy to see when open but hard when fallen,
Before the stairs I am worried where to find your remains.
责任编辑：虫虫
