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Слушать(AI)Ching Ping Tiao
Clouds bring back to mind her dress, the flowers her face.
Winds of spring caress the rail where sparkling dew-drops cluster.
If you cannot see her by the jewelled mountain top,
Maybe on the moonlit Jasper Terrance you will meet her.
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Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows near the tower Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words
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I took leave of you, old friend, at Yellow Crane Pavilion; In the mist and bloom of March, you wentdown to Yang-chou: A lonely sail, distant shades, extinguished by blue—There, at the horizon, where river meets sky
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