临江仙·斗草阶前初见

First I saw her on the steps where we matched herbs for sport; again we met in the tower where needles were threaded. Her silk skirt was sweet with dew, her jade pin caught the wind. With her lovely makeup, her brows were shaded green; her shy face bloomed red beneath its powder.

The flowing water went off with the spring; with whom at last will the drifting cloud be one? Waking from wine, I always hate the empty brocade screen. I seek her on the road of dreams — flying rain, falling flowers.