Fair one, when you were here, I filled the house with flowers.
Fair one, now you are gone—only an empty couch is left.
On the couch the embroidered quilt is rolled up; I cannot sleep.
It is three years since you went. The perfume you left behind haunts me still.
The perfume strays about me forever, but where are you, Beloved?
I sigh—the yellow leaves fall from the branch,
I weep—the dew twinkles white on the green mosses.