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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.
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