The Song of the Flowers’ Burial
Translated by myself from Chinese. Chapter 27, Dream of the Red Chamber by Cao Xueqin.
Lin Daiyu, the girl who writes this poem in the book, contemplate the sadness of waning spring. She buries the fallen flower petals to give them a place to rest.
Flowers wither, petals fly; drifting blossoms fill the skies; Faded colours, waned scent; who for them shall lament?
Soft gossamer float and cling, webs tangled in groves of spring; Falling catkins by wind sent, to the sewn screen lightly blent.
In the inner chambers, this girl cherishes the dusk of spring; Her breast laden with sorrow, nowhere her woes can she bring.
A flower hoe held in her hand, she exits the sewn screen; Bear she tread on the fallen petals whilst her footsteps fling?
Willow fluffs, elms pods; each busy with their own fragrant flaunt; Regard the falling petals from peach and pear trees they don’t.
Yet, when next year comes, peach and pear trees will again vaunt; But do they know who will, next year, the inner chamber haunt?
How many moments can radiant beauty and sweet charm last? A gust of gale and it’s hard to tell where to they’ve been blast.
Blooms catch the eye easily, fallen they are hard to see; By the stairs she who the flowers buries, grieves deadly.
The clutched hoe her sole company; hidden tears down spill, free; They splatter the bare stick, leaving traces of drops, bloody.
The cuckoo is silent as dusk extends its yellow sea; Shouldering the hoe, she goes home and shuts the door, heavy.
A bronze lamp glints against the walls; she goes to rest lightly, Cold rain on windows raps; the cover yet to warm isn't ready.
Third moon, and the fragrant nest is already complete; How heartlessly does the swallow on the roof beam take seat!
When next year comes, on new burgeons it will again feed; But does it know the girl will be gone and the nest emptied?
In a full year, three hundred and sixty days elapse; Wind as swords and frost like spears, ‘round the flowers press their wraps.
What, exactly, has caused this strange girl such outrage? Toward spring she feels half regret; another half rage.
Regret for spring that sudden comes; rage for it sudden goes; As without a word it greets, and as silently it fleets.
Last night, from outside the courtyard played a sad melody; Flowers and birds sang their soulsong in wistful symphony.
Soul of flowers and soul of birds, both are hard to retain; Birds turn mute and flowers shy away when she asks in vain.
She wishes that a pair of wings from her flanks would now spring; So she could fly, and chase the flowers to the end of skies.
End of skies, where does the fragrant grave lie?
May she with her satchel sewn, collect the flowery bones; And with a handful of soil pure, cover their frivol allure!
That way, as cleanly as they were born, as cleanly they depart; Rather than for them to sink into foul drains and mud endure.
Today, flowers have died, and here she comes for their burial, But who knows when it’ll be the turn for her own funeral?
Whilst she buries flowers, people mock her to be a fool; But who’ll chant her requiem when comes the year cruel?
She closely observes spring’s ruin and the flowers’ slow decay; Because they mirror aging grace, and her own dying day,
In a gust of wind, spring ends and the rosy cheeks of youth fray; Flowers fall, the girl dies, and their names none can say!
Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889024/chapters/73555665
