Getting off the swing she straightens her clothes languidly, her fingers slender. The dew is heavy, the blossom frail, patches of perspiration stain her dress. Seeing someone come, in her stocking feet, gold hairpin slipping, she runs bashfully away. At the door she pauses, turning to look back, and sniffs the green plum in her hand.
3.51
蹴罷鞦韆
起來慵整纖纖手。
露濃花瘦。
薄汗沾衣透。
見客入來
襪鏟金釵溜。
和羞走。
倚門回首。 却把青梅嗅。
To the Tune “Dabbing Crimson Lips”
Getting off the swing she straightens her clothes languidly, her fingers slender. The dew is heavy, the blossom frail,
patches of perspiration stain her dress.
Seeing someone come, in her stocking feet, gold hairpin slipping, she runs bashfully away.
At the door she pauses, turning to look back, and sniffs the green plum in her hand.