Notes of Late Spring
Living in a dark alley behind shambled gates,
I have few companions or friends —
my perfect lover boy only stays on in my dreams.
So whose banquet with fine silks
floats out this fragrant incense,
and what pavilion releases such singing to the wind?
Living just beside the street, the noise of martial drums
shocked me out of my morning sleep.
The screech of magpies in my unused yard
churns up the youthful restlessness I feel.
How can I keep chasing such worldly things
when I know this body
is the same as an untied boat?
______________________
Yu Xuanji
Yin Mountain
The immortal poetry of three Daoist women
translated by Peter Levitt & Rebecca Nie
Shambhala, 2022
