朝朝送别泣花钿,折尽春风杨柳烟。
愿得西山无树木,免教人作泪悬悬。
Every morning a farewell, crying into my hair.
Admiring how spring's last winds shake willows into smoke.
I'm willing for West Mountain to be bare of all its trees,
If it will teach men to do their work far, far from tears.
This is the last poem we have of Yu Xuanji. It is also one of the last she wrote. "Every morning" is only a "farewell" if you know you will be leaving and not coming back. I think the image of West Mountain's bareness is also an emptiness of death.
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