I think of when she sleeps–
struggling to stay awake when others have retired,
undoing her sheer gown without waiting to be urged,
resting on the pillow till caresses find her.
Fearful that the one by her side is watching,
she blushes under the candle’s glow.

translated by Burton Watson

I think of when she sits–
prim, prim before the gauze curtain,
sometimes singing four or five songs,
sometimes plucking two or three strings.
When she laughs, there’s no one like her;
when she sulks, she’s more lovely than before.

translated by Burton Watson

I think of when she comes–
shining, shining, up the garden stairs,
impatient, impatient to end our parting.
Tireless, tireless, we talk of love,
gaze at each other but never get our fill,
look at one another till hunger is forgotten.

translated by Burton Watson