Outside the blind,peach-blossom,a soft spring breeze;
Within,a girl is languidly dressing her hair.
Outside,the peach-blossom;within the girl--
Not far apart the blossom and maid so fair.
Obligingly,the breeze blows back the blind
And holds it to afford a glimpse of her bower;
Outside,the peach is blooming as of old,
Frailer the girl within than any flower.
The flowers,knowing pity,grieve for her;
Their sighs gentle breezes express;
Breeze wafts through bamboo slats,blooms fill the court,
But this spring scene redoubless.
The gate of the quiet,mossy courtyarde is clossewd,
At sunset she leans alone on the balustrade;
Then,shedding tears in the soothing breeze,
Neath blossoming boughs slips the red-skirted maid.
Luxuriant the foliage and blooms
With petals a fresh red,leaves emerald green；
These myriad trees enwrapped in mist
Cast a rosy glow,as if of warmth,on her screen.
Duck-and-drocake from heaven's loom is burned,
While on coral pillow she wakes in balmy spring;
But chill to the touch of rouged cheeks,
Sweet spring water in golden basins her maids bring.
To What can the vividness of rouge be likened?
The colour of flowers?A girl' tears dropping slow?
If tears are likened to blossom,
Long as the blooms retain their charm they flow.
As she gazes at the blossom her tears run dry—
Her tears run dry,spring ends,blooms fade away;
The fading blossoms hide the fading maid;
Blossoms drift down,she tires,dusk follows day.
A cuckoo-call and spring is left behind,
Only faint moonlight falls on the lonely blind.
——By Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang