Wang Chien
(768?-833?)
A Bride
On the third day, taking my place to cook,
Washing my hands to make the bridal soup,
I decide that not my mother-in-law
But my husband's young sister shall have the first taste.
Palace Song
I search the treetops, low-hung branches, for a trace of pink:
one petal drifting west, one petal east.
Peach blossoms thought only of fruit to come;
it would be wrong to rail at the dawn-watch wind.