Tune: “A Riverside Town”
Dreaming of My Deceased Wife
On the Night of the 20th Day of the 1st Month
For ten long years the living of the dead knows nought.
Though to my mind not brought,
Could the dead be forgot?
Her lonely grave is far, a thousand miles away。
To whom can I my grief convey?
Revived, e’en if she be, could she know me?
My face is worn with care
And frosted is my hair.
Last night I dreamed of coming to my native place:
She’s making up her face
Before her mirror with grace.
Each saw the other hushed,
But from our eyes tears gushed。
When I am woken, I fancy her heart-broken
Each night when the moon shines
O’er her grave clad with pines.