The moon above the palace of Han
And above the land of Chin,
Shedding a flood of silvery light,
Bids the radiant lady farewell.
She sets out on the road of the Jewel Gate—
The road she will not travel back.
The moon returns above the palace of Han,
Rising from the eastern seas,
But the radiant lady wed in the west,
She will return nevermore.
On the Mongolian mountains flowers are made
Of the long winter’s snow.
The moth-eyebrowed one, broken-hearted,
Lies buried in the desert sand.
Living, she lacked the gold,
And her portrait was distorted;
Dying she leaves a green mound,
Which moves all the world to pity.