The Prince

Under the mulberry trees

The horses wait. The nervousness!

Their stamping hoofs, their white starred foreheads.

Our Prince is served by eunuchs and lute players.

Who sing and play underneath the weeping willows.

In the low grounds, bending, women gather

The chestnuts' fruits. Like jewels.

Do not take their joy from them !

°

The cold winter hurts your eyes.

In your fox furs you enter boldly

The great hall of the palace.

I think anxiously about you.

The worries stamping on my brow, the paths

To grievance and weariness.

My heart is wounded in sorrow.

To the core of my soul, I'm grieved.

°

Ephemeral wings of dark red feathers.

Wings of passion.

Oh, come! Abide with me !

The bright and splendid robes

That conceal my nakedness, are gone.

Am I not naked before you,with my red passion wings ?

Oh, come and rest with me, my lover !

Don't let my heart grieve your absence.

°

The painful wounds of war,

appeased by luxuriant and fresh green bamboos.

The accomplished Prince

His cap glittering with black pearls and stars,

Dignified, awaits the healing.

Scepter of jade in the untroubled hand.

The cold blue steel of his eyes,

Like spears in my heart.

I know the pain of wounds and love.