| 英譯： |
Sung Yü's vain hopes have vanished in melancholy,
What a graceful beauty she is, dusted with rose.
I hear her singing among dewy, spring grass,
Her gate is closed, drifted over with apricot blossom.
She rouges her mouth, a little cherry,
Pencils her brows, deep-green as cassia leaves.
At dawn by her vanity-box she makes up her face,
Night-fragrance fades from the tube in the bed.
On her inlaid mirror flies a lonely magpie,
On a river-view screen, waterweed is painted.
Her hair swirls up and down, a blue-black phoenix,
With golden insects quivering upon it.s
She is an iris brimming with clear dew,
A cattail with its clustering purple shoots.
Black eyebrows crescent-moons, unfrowning,
Her dimples red as folded flowers.
Her heavy hair curls round her like a mist,
So slender-waisted, a breeze could break her.
She writes love-letters capped with cardamoms,
Laughing at 'lotus', that secret word.
Do not lock up the box of purple brocade,
Nor open the basket quilted with kingfisher feathers.
Playing with her pearls she scares the southern swallows,
Burning honey she entices the northern bees.
She casts red nets dappled with white,
And hangs up gins of thin, green gauze.
She teaches her lovely girls to handle money,
Asks her servant from Pa what medicine to buy.
On her powdered cheeks a slanting line of geese,
Moving the lamp, she broods on dreams of bears.
Her feelings are not tight as tied bamboo,
The flesh of her belly is suddenly taut as a bow.
At dusk new butterflies go astray in the trees,
Fading, a female rainbow longs for a vanished male.
Long ago, a bird tried to fill in the Gulf of Chihli,
Today an old man tunnels the K'ung-t'ung hills.
From an embroidered rope long curtains hang,
Her silken skirt is tied at its short seam.
Like a dancing crane her heart flutters about,
Her bones are sticking out like a fallen dragon's
From the side of the well green lacquer drops,
The door-rings are bound with white brass.
Hugging the flowers a rabbit-track opens,
Hard by the wall, print of foxes' feet.
The light blinds are studded with tortoise-shell,
The folding screen of glass is warm.
Her ivory bed has sides of white cypress,
Her rolled jade-mat is fragrant as water-shallot.
She plays her small pipes by the curtains at dawn
On fragrant wine-Iees maple-leaves fall at dusk.
'Should-have-a-son' grows in the lanes of Ch'u,
Gardenias blossom around Golden Wall.
The open screen is rough with tortoise-shell,
Her goose-feather brush soaks up the rich, black ink,
The 'Yellow Courtyard' detains this Wei Huan.
In the green trees she feeds the Han P'eng birds.
At cockcrow stars hang in the willows,
Crows cry as dew drops from the plane trees.
When this yellow-painted beauty takes her scat,
Her little sisters follow in her train.
When waxen tears have fallen, fragrance vanished,
With a grass broom she sweeps the ornate lattice.
She plays an old tune on her mouth-organ,
While waiting to buy wine from Hsin-feng,
Sorrow thick as the grain on her short pendant,
Fingers slender as chives plucking the long-stringed lute.
In the Serpentine, the ducklings are all sleeping,
In the small pavilion, the pretty maidservant dreams.
Her well-stitched mattress is sewn with double thread,
Her buckled belt bas five braided tassels.
Mist from Shu flies over the rich brocade,
Rain from the gorge sprinkles her silken nightdress,
She rubs the mirror, shy before Wen Ch'iao,
Flees from Chia Ch'ung in his perfumed dress.
A fish lies under a jade lotus-root,
Someone is held fast by a stone-lotus.
She knits her blue eyebrows, mouth full of water,
From the terrace she sprays his horse's mane.
The Govenor lives in a winding street,
The Guardian of the Royal Tombs dwells in Lin-ch'iung.'
A warm ball of fragrance hangs from her cassia curtains,
From brazen incense-burners, wisps of smoke.
These long, spring days, Master Wang's ways are winning,
Orioles sing, so she thinks of Hsieh's languorous maid.
The jade water-clock says the Three Stars shine bright,
By the Bronze Camels the five-horse carriages meet.
Rhinoceros horn banishes fear from her gall,
Mercury calms the fluttering of her heart.
She uses a bracelet to tell a man's destiny,
Strums her lute and sings of good luck and bad.
'The Royal Hour occurs on the Seventh Night,
Your lover has a post in the Triple Palaces.'
Since I had no strength, she fed me powdered mica,
Sought many prescriptions from an old medicine seller.
She sent me a blue-bird bearing an amulet,
The bag was sewn with thin, red silk.
As I passed the willows in the royal park,
Beyond the bridge the palace bells stopped ringing.
When my middle-aged maid a wakes in the moonlight,
She will laugh to see my painted room is empty.
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