My home is by the white duckweed shore,
The sun rises on the lotus oar.
The creaking sound of oars being plied,
Moves the boat into the sedge leaves' tide.
The stream is long, the sedge leaves deep,
Making the bottom hard to seek.
Avoiding you, yet you're not seen,
The mandarin ducks alone float and dive.
Picking duckweed, duckweed has no root,
Plucking lotus, lotus bears its seed.
I will not live as floating duckweed,
Rather die as the lotus flower.
By the bank, a youth on horseback rides,
Black hat, purple reins for his strolls.
Holding sorrow, yet also holding a smile,
Turning his head, he asks of Hengtang.
I dwell by the Jinling river shore,
Before my gate, the Vermilion Bird landing.
Tassels I take to make my canopy,
Lotus I take to make my beam.
Going out and in, a gilded calf-carriage canopy,
My brothers serve as Palace Attendants.
The year before last, I learned song and dance,
Surely then I won your promise.
Delicate brows encircling like hills,
A waist slender yet firm as a pestle.
The phoenix pipe grieves as if choking,
The phoenix-string lute yearns to speak.
A thin fan reveals rouge lead,
Light gauze presses on golden threads.
The bright moon at the southwest tower,
Beaded curtains with tortoiseshell hooks.
Liquid glances skilled in laughter,
Arched moth-eyebrows know not sorrow.
Flowers bloom, seeds remain on the tree,
Grass grows long, roots cling to the soil.
Long have I heard the Golden Ditch is far,
Why then did you promise to return?
I will not learn from Yang Baihua,
Who morning after morning wept tears like rain.