"Lower than that no person could be brought!
It's just a bauble then, the glittering life. 180
And who is he? Why did we chance to meet?
Does fate intend some tie between us two?"
Her bosom heaved in turmoil—she poured forth
a wondrous lyric fraught with all she felt.
The moonlight through the blinds was falling slant. 185
Leaning against the window, she drowsed off.
Now out of nowhere there appeared a girl
of worldly glamour joined to virgin grace:
face washed with dewdrops, body clad in snow,
and hovering feet, two golden lotus blooms.* 190
With joy Kieu hailed the stranger, asking her:
"Did you stray here from that Peach Blossom Spring?"
"We two are sister souls," the other said.*
"Have you forgotten? We just met today!
My cold abode lies west of here, out there, 195
above a running brook, below a bridge.
By pity moved, you stooped to notice me
and strew on me poetic pearls and gems.
I showed them to our League Chief and was told*
your name is marked in the Book of the Damned. * 200
We both reap what we sowed in our past lives:
of the same League, we ride the selfsame boat.
Well, ten new subjects our League Chief just set:
again please work your magic with a brush."
Kieu did as asked and wrote—with nymphic grace 205
her hand dashed off ten lyrics at one stroke.
Dam Tien read them and marveled to herself:
"Rich wrought embroidery from a heart of gold!
Included in the Book of Sorrow Songs,*
they'll yield the palm to none but win first prize." 210
The caller crossed the doorsill, turned to leave,
but Kieu would hold her back and talk some more.
A sudden gust of wind disturbed the blinds,
and Kieu awakened, knowing she had dreamed.
She looked, but nowhere could she see the girl, 215
though hints of perfume lingered here and there.
Alone with her dilemma in deep night,
she viewed the road ahead and dread seized her.
A rose afloat, a water fern adrift:
such was the lot her future held in store. 220
Her inmost feelings surged, wave after wave—
again and yet again she broke and cried.
Kieu's sobs sent echoes through the phoenix drapes.
Aroused, her mother asked: "What troubles you*
that you still stir and fret at dead of night, 225
your cheeks like some pear blossoms drenched with rain?"
Kieu said: "You once bore me, you've brought me up,
a double debt I've not repaid one whit.
Today, while strolling, I found Dam Tien's grave,
then in a dream she just revealed herself. 230
She told me how by fate I'm doomed to grief,
delivered themes on which I wrote some songs.
As I interpret what the dream portends,
my life in days ahead won't come to much!"
Her mother said: "Are dreams and vapors grounds 235
whereon to build a tale of woe? Just think!"
Kieu tried to heed such words of sound advice,
but soon her tears welled up and flowed again.*
Outside the window chirped an oriole
over the wall a catkin flew next door.* 240
The tilting moonlight lay aslant the porch—
she stayed alone, alone with her own grief.
How strange, the race of lovers! Try as you will,*
you can't unsnarl their hearts' entangled threads.
Since Kim was back inside his book lined walls, 245
he could not drive her from his haunted mind.
He drained the cup of gloom: it filled anew¬—
one day without her seemed three autumns long.
Silk curtains veiled her windows like dense clouds,
and toward the rose within he'd dream his way. 250
The moon kept waning, oil kept burning low:
his face yearned for her face, his heart her heart.
The study room turned icy, metal cold¬¬¬—*
brushes lay dry, lute strings hung loose on frets.
Hsiang bamboo blinds stirred rustling in the wind—* 255
incense roused longing, tea lacked love's sweet taste.
If fate did not mean them to join as mates,*
why had the temptress come and teased his eyes?*
Forlorn, he missed the scene, he missed the girl:
he rushed back where by chance the two had met. 260
A tract of land with grasses lush and green,
with waters crystal clear: he saw naught else.
The breeze at twilight stirred a mood of grief—¬
the reeds waved back and forth as if to taunt.
A lover's mind is full of her he loves: 265
he walked straight on and made toward her Blue Bridge.*
Fast gate, high wall: no stream for his red leaf,*
no passage for his bluebird bearing word.*
A willow dropped its curtain of silk threads—¬
