The east wind, radiant, loosens peach and plum;
Spring enters the garden, thick with vernal wine.
Through mermaid silk, a dragon's brain scent glows red;
Twelve pairs of mandarin ducks adorn lotus blooms.
Yingying first seen at fifteen or sixteen,
Eyebrows tried with dark paste, hair cascading green.
Her words, not quite correct, brim with tender charm;
She learned the Xiangyang song of the great embankment.
Her mother doted on her, held in palm's view;
From then, her winsome ways were hard to restrain.
When orioles peck cherries, not yet swallowed down,
She met her love as wind stirred the bamboo grove.
The sun climbs high, silk window late in morn;
Birds' cries press flowers, her new sleep is cut short.
Her glossy hair, slim fingers, toss and turn aside;
Half of the quilt retains a可怜 emerald warmth.
A pale yellow gown, fairy robe light and thin;
Red jade railings, her powdered makeup faint and mild.
Wine stains on cheeks, plum blossoms endure the cold;
Spring shyness in her eyes, a sidelong glance so bright.
A wisp of rouge remains upon the mountain pillow;
She glances askance, adjusts her robe, moves languidly.
Her talent rivals Han Shou, Pan An she outshines;
Tossing fruit, stealing scent, her heart secretly weds.
In a quiet small courtyard, wine feast wanes away;
Private words are exchanged beneath the silver candle.
The curtain's sound ripples the gilded forehead band;
A six-foot ivory bed, silk curtains narrow and tight.
Hairpin askew, between tears and laughter unclear;
Having weathered all romantic trials, her waist a mere handful.
If she were to soar and sing within the ninth heaven,
A single note could topple a kingdom, captivate all.
Such abundant charm must be spring's own handiwork;
How deeply can it stir the human heart, I wonder?
The year before last, at the governor's dance feast,
Awakening, she bore her shame, head bowed low.
The phoenix flute turns cold, the melody slows down;
Drunken gaze凝固 on peach blossoms past wind and rain.
Ah Ying, ah Ying, listen to what I say:
I urge you not to dwell by the sunlit terrace.
Even if you win King Chu's favor all your life,
With Song Yu's ample talent, who can truly portray?
In Luoyang, countless green-chamber girls abound,
Sleeves hiding red clappers, golden phoenix threads.
In spring robes, powdered faces—whose young man is this?
Only spending gold to buy song and dance.
Among them, the fickle young lords of Wuling,
One day turn cold-hearted, jade-like love to dust.
Clouds scatter, rain falls, truly cause for grief;
Vainly entering others' dreams, coming and going.
By Huanhua Stream, in the Bay of Crabapple,
Xue Tao's vermilion doors all ringed with gold.
Wei Gao's brush free, tortoiseshell slips away;
Zhang Hu's cup smooth,琉璃 dries up.
Outshining念奴 a hundredfold in worth,
Strange inspirations spring from the tip of the brush.
Drunken eyes glance at paper, casually a sweep,
Falling blossoms, flying snow, sound vast and endless.
Mengde saw it and changed his view;
Letian dares not regard it as ordinary.
Amidst flowers, unwilling to descend from emerald curtains,
All day resplendent, mounted on carved saddles.
Painting brows, applying powder till seventy years old,
In old age finally donning the calamus crown.
To this day, sorrowful at Jinjiang's mouth,
Autumn crickets, dew-drenched grass, a lonely grave cold.
Yingying, of great elegance, truly a pity;
Your like hereafter cannot be found again.
Under a sky full of wind and moon, alone I lean on the rail;
Drunk, by the shore of thick clouds, I call for lost ink.
Long time not seen, my heart remembers;
The high wall nearly touches the sky, not many feet away.
The setting sun on Hengshan, clouds half red;
Distant water, windless, sky and water one azure.
My gazing eyes空遥, sink emerald wings;
The Silver River easily broadens, sky north and south.
Worn thin, Xiuwen's belt eye shifts;
How can I bear, in this small tower, clear tears to drip?