Mountain Pavilion Willow: To a Singer

My home is in the west of Qin; I carry many skills and can match them against others. In song and dance I compete with fresh invention. Now and then I learn the airs of Niannu; sometimes my voice soars and stays the passing clouds. Countless lengths of Shu brocade were given me — not for nothing was my toil.

For years I have traveled the roads to Xianjing, idly wearing out my soul on cold leavings and dregs. The feelings of my heart — to whom can I entrust them? If one who understands should care for me, I would not refuse to sing the Spring Song straight through. One song before the feast, and the tears fall; once more I cover my face with a silk kerchief.