The Western Han belittled the kumquat; Dongyang adored the wild crabapple.
In Xuchang, this encounter is rare; Du Fu lacked prior praise to grapple.
The cuckoo's call in spring, so bright; the Can Cong realm's fragrance, a nation's delight.
Rouge dots scattered in chaotic rain; scarlet hues gleam in the slanting sun's reign.
Rich splendor marks the Lord of East's season; warm beauty graces White Emperor's region.
Brocade towers pray for water's hue; Jade Fortress swaps mountain's view.
The wind's rhythm, fine as linqin fruit; waist slender as the plum's long shoot.
Heaven-born with smiling, charming grace; fashion's dance attire in time and space.
Slight blooms deeply dyed, a vivid trace; full blossoms lightly dressed, a subtle face.
Mist guards the green calyx, tender and tight; wind arrays damage the crimson room's light.
Swift loss comes by the water's side; idly drifting, never crossing the wall's divide.
Losing a pendant, Fu grieved to death; hairpin fallen, Jiang's heart bereft.
Butterflies dance in water chestnut's glow; orioles sing in painted hall's tableau.
Immortal as Nongyu, young and fair; falling like Green Pearl, often in despair.
Not seeing brings regret, a heavy cost; longing nearly drives one mad, almost lost.
Deep spring bathes the Brocade-washing stream; late day at the Gauze-rinsing坊, a dream.
Lying, I face the moving curtain's weight; chanting, I watch near the writing desk's state.
The pond clear, the whole garden inverted; a bird rises, one branch upward asserted.
Purple swallows hasten with mud in beak; yellow bees rush for honey, busy and sleek.
Nature's craft truly with intent designed; worthy to toast with cup in hand, enshrined.