Tune: "Dream Of A Palace Maid"
The flute is mute;
Waking from moonlit dream, she feels grief acute.
O moon! O flute!
Year after year, do you not grieve
To see 'neath willows people leave!
All's merry on the plain on Mountain-Climbing Day,
But she receives no word from ancient northwest way.
O'er ancient way
The sun declines; the west wind falls
O'er royal tombs and palace walls.