A charming Girl, full of dejected love,
Weaves plain silk as autumn sounds stir.
Passing the yarn-guide her bracelet jade trembles,
pressing the shears her belt pearls tinkle.
Warp so fine threatens to jam the shuttle,
woof snaps, she's cross the silk is too thin.
Grapevine begins to look finished,
mandarin ducks have yet to emerge.
Under cloudy ridge-poles all the weaves stroll,
silk windows open to each other.
Through window grilles float eyebrow whispers,
from silk to light come smiling eyes.
Blurred, screened by thinnest silk,
yet clearly glimpsed cosmetic flower:
Sweetheart lotus roots studded with jade,
love-knot flowers strung with jewels,
her red gown fastened at the back,
gold pins slant toward her side curls.
From the loom top hangs gay braid,
from the loom's side cascade strings of pearl.
Green silk threads draw in the pivot's crouching hare,
yellow gold encircles the pulley's Lulu knob.
Rich tints dart from her skirt hem,
scented gloss glistens on her lips.
One hundred city barons ask after her,
five horse teams paw the ground before her.
There is only me in my bedroom,
faithful to past love, not seeking new amours.
In dreams weeping soaks my flowery pillow,
waking tears drench my silk kerchief.
Sleeping alone is so hard for me,
my double quilt still feels cold.
Even more I desire your skin's marbrous warmth,
more than ever long for horizontal pleasures.
