Deep, deep the courtyard where he is, so deep?
It' s veiled by smoke-like willows heap on heap,
By cuttain on curtain and screen on screen.
Leaving his saddle and bridle, there he has been merry-making.
From my tower he can' t be seen.
The third month now, the wind and rain are raging late,
At dusk i bar the gate,
But i can' t bar in spring.
My tearful eyes ask flowers but they fail to bring an answer.
I see blossoms fall beyond the swing.
－－－How cold I bend myself to dignitary humbly . It makes me unhappy! －－－