She was a Manchu lady…
Near the tomb where she lies
Broods an ancient Buddha with robes of jade and of coral
And curious lapis-blue eyes.
She was a wistful lady…
When the west wind sighs
Inscrutable even as the terrible calm of Buddha
Her impassive disguise.
She was a Manchu lady…
Azure the skies,
And golden the tracery sealing the proud lips of Buddha
As the west wind dies.
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