by Li Qingzhao
In the sky, clouds churn and unite with the morning mist,
the river of stars longs to set a thousand sails dancing.
As if in a dream, I return to the palace,
I hear the heavenly voice,
gently asking me where I have returned from.
I reply that though the road is long and the day is late,
my poems still have the power to astonish men.
The wind from the Peng bird's wings travels 900,000 li,
the grass boat sets sail for the three mountains.