Ma Hsian-Ian

Waterlilies

The floss of the reed flowers
Is like flying snow.
The Autumn river turns cold.
A jade inlaid horizontal flute
Sounds above the noise of men.
The wild geese return
On the first Autumn gales.
Here and there waterlilies are still blooming.

After the heavy dew, it is hard
For the beauty to get up.
Her perfumed rouge
Is reflected in the autumn water,
A slanting flowered branch in a mirror,
Beautiful as an evening cloud.

trans unknown