Late at night, around the street corner,
A dreamlike bloom of lamplight.
Mist bewitches and shrouds the tree;
No wonder people lose their way.
“What have you done to me – you cruel thing!”
She weeps; he – no answer.
The morning breeze rocks the treetop gently,
Gone is the red blossom in early autumn.
Xu Zhimo, London, September 1925, originally published in “The Crescent Monthly”,
Vol. I, No. 11.
Translated by Xu Gai-Yu