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Wang Chien
(768?-833?)
A Bride
On the third day, taking my place to cook,
Washing my hands to make the bridal soup,
I decide that not my mother-in-law
But my
husband's young sister shall have the first taste.
Palace Song
I search the treetops, low-hung branches, for a trace of
pink:
one petal drifting west, one petal
east.
Peach blossoms thought only of fruit to
come;
it would be wrong to rail at the dawn-watch
wind.
