'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.
“惜哉鮮花汝父假,
子花芳自父花芳,
父花悲傷把淚撒:
灌澆唯願子花彰,
花謝於血本屬卿,
不及謝萎在吾膺”