In the land of Wu the mulberry leaves are green,
Silkworms in Wu have now had three sleeps:
My family, left in eastern Lu,
Oh, to sow now Turtle-shaded fields,
Do the Spring things I can never join.
Sailing Yangtze always on my own—
Let the South Wind blow you back my heart,
Fly and land it in the Tavern Court
Where, to the East, there are sprays and leaves
Of one peach tree, sweeping the blue mist;
This is the tree I myself put in
When I left you, nearly three years past;
A peach tree now, level with the eaves,
And I sailing cannot yet turn home!
Pretty daughter, P’ing-yang is your name,
Breaking blossom, you cannot see me
And your tears flow like the running stream;
And little son, Po-ch’in you are called,
Your big sister’s shoulder you must reach
When you come there underneath my peach,
Oh to pat and pet you too, my child!
I dreamt like this till my wits went wild,
By such yewarning dialy burned within;
So tore some silk, wrote this distant pang
From me to you living at Wen Yang…
