How sorrowful is women's lot!" she cried. "We all partake of woe, our common fate. - Nguyễn Du

Cảo thơm lần giở trước đèn,
Phong tình có lục còn truyền sử xanh.

West Lake flower garden: a desert, now.
Alone, at the window, I read through old pages.
A smudge of rouge, a scent of perfume, but
I still weep.
Is there a Fate for books?
Why mourn for a half-burned poem?
There is nothing, there is no one to question,
and yet this misery feels like my own.
Ah, in another three hundred years
will anyone weep, remembering my fate?

Duyên hội ngộ, đức cù lao,
Bên tình bên hiếu, bên nào nặng hơn?
Để lời thệ hải minh sơn,
Làm con trước phải đền ơn sinh thành.