Under the crescent moon's faint glow
The washerman's bat resounds afar,
And the autumn breeze sighs tenderly.
But my heart has gone to the Tartar war,
To bleak Kansuh and the steppes of snow,
Calling my husband back to me.
Return to the Li Bai library
, or . . . Read the next poem;
Visiting A Taoist On Tiatien Mountain