'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise—
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire—
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.
“惜哉鲜花汝父假,
子花芳自父花芳,
父花悲伤把泪撒:
灌浇唯愿子花彰,
花谢于血本属卿,
不及谢萎在吾膺”