12
My Dear One,
Thou askest me if I still care for thee, if the remembrance of thy face
has grown less dear with the passing of the days. Dear one, thou
knowest we Chinese women are not supposed to know of love, much
less to speak of it. We read of it, we know it is the song of all the
world, but it comes not to us unless by chance. We go to you as
strangers, we have no choice, and if the Gods withhold their greatest
gift, the gift of love, then life is grey and wan as the twilight of a
hopeless day. Few women have the joy I feel when I look into my
loved one's face and know that I am his and he is mine, and that our
lives are twined together for all the days to come.
Do I love thee? I cannot tell. I think of thee by day and I dream of thee
by night. I never want to hurt thee nor cause thee a moment's sorrow.
I would fill my hands with happiness to lay down at thy feet. Thou art
my life, my love, my all, and I am thine to hold through all the years.
13
My Dear One,
It is the time of school, and now all the day from the servants'
courtyard I hear their droning voices chanting the sayings of
Confucius. I did not know we had so many young lives within our
compound until I saw them seated at their tables.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51