Through flocks of mountains, myriad valleys, <br />I arrive in Jingmen, <br />where Ming-fei was born and bred-- <br />the village is still there. <br /> <br />Once she left the crimson terraces, <br />there was nothing but endless desert; <br />only her evergreen grave is left <br />to face the twilight. <br /> <br />Portraits have recorded <br />her spring-fresh face; <br />the tinkle of girdle pendants heralds <br />her soul's vain return by moonlight. <br /> <br />For a thousand years the pipa <br />has wailed in its alien tongue, <br />as if its strings bemoan in song <br />her tragic tale of grief.<br /><br />Du Fu<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-on-an-ancient-site-birthplace-of-wang-qiang/
