Where is my husband now?
Before the vanity, I no longer care to paint my brows.
Spring catkins from the fields fly in through the curtains,
Orioles cries startle and frustrate me.
O, silly me—
I cannot sleep with only a pillow.
Aroused by the sorrow of parting, a sorrow without an end,
I longingly recall plucking willow branches at the Farewell Pavilion.