Tune: “Buddhist Dancers”
O’er far-flung wooded plain wreaths of smoke weave a screen,
Cold mountains stretch into a belt of sorrowful green.
The dusk invades the tower high
Where someone sighs a longing sigh.
On marble steps she waits in vain
But to see birds fly back again.
Where should she gaze to find her dear?
She sees but stations far and near.