The morning sun has already risen,
fully thirty feet high.
Golden tripods, one after another, are filled
with incense animals.
The red brocade carpet
rufles with every step. The lovely one dances tip-toe,
her golden hairpin slippen out;
Nauseated by wine, she often plucks
flower buds to smell,
While from the other palace is heard dimly
the music of fifes and drums.
tr. Lu Wu-chiChinese text
Evening toilet newly done,
She applies softly a bit of dark rouge to her lips,
Revealing slightly her lilac tongue.
A melody of clear song
Temporarily induces the cherry lips to part. Her silken sleeves are stained
with the scarlet dregs
Of fragrant wine, which tints the deep goblet.
Leaning aslant on the embroidered bed,
her chars indescribable,
She chews until pulpy the red flossy silk
And laughingly spits it out at her lover.
tr. Lu Wu-chi
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