| 英譯： |
AT fifteen, she entered the Palace of Han,
Her flower-face was like a river in Spring.
The Prince chose her of the jade colour
To attend his rest within the embroidered screen.
As she presented the pillow, she was lovely as the evening moon.
He who wears the dragon robes delighted in the sweetly scented wind of her garments.
How was it possible for the “Flying Swallow” to snatch the Emperor’s love?
Jealousy unending! Profoundest grief which can so wound a person
And turn the black cloud head-dress to frosted thistledown!
If, for one day, our desires be not satisfied,
Verily the things of the world are nothing.
Change the duck-feather dress for sweet wine,
Cease to embroider dragons on the dresses for the wu dance.
She is chilly with bitterness,
Words cannot be endured.
For one’s Lord one plays the table-lute of wu-t’ung wood with strings of silk,
But when one’s bowels are torn with grief, the strings also break.
Grief in the heart at night is anguish and despair.
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