I
Her robe is made of cloud, her face of flowers made,
Caressed by vernal breeze, freshened by morning dew,
Charming as Fairy Queen in her Mountain of Jade
Or Goddess of the Moon in her palace sky-blue.
II
A branch of peony with her fragrance impearled,
Sweeter than Mountain Goddess bringing showers in dreams,
Unrivalled by the beauties of the ancient world,
Not even by Flying Swallow in her dress that gleams.
III
The beauty gazes at the flower she admires,
Winning the monarch’s smiling gaze from hour to hour.
Gratifying Spring wind’s insatiable desires,
She leans on balustrade north of the Fragrant Bower.