No sooner the jade buds are turned to rosy lips
- Poetry of Li Qingzhao

No sooner the jade buds are turned to rosy lips,

I fear already the south blooms were fading;

one needn't care how rich are their perfumes

to discover all of a soul's glowing yearnings.

They say someone in my favorite window grows pale,

whose hand drags along the balustrade of her distress;

come to her soon, while the thirst declines not the least;

tomorrow, who knows, if the blossoms fall to gales.