枝上花,花下人,可怜颜色俱青春。
昨日看花花灼灼, 今朝看花花欲落。
不如尽此花下欢,莫待春风总吹却。
莺歌蝶舞韶光长,红炉煮茗松花香。
妆成罢吟恣游后,独把芳枝归洞房。
Blossoms on the branches.
Blossoms fall on men.
A pity, their faces are full of their youth.
Yesterday, I saw every blossom blooming.
Now, I see each blossom wants to fall.
This joy of falling is not as good as leaving here.
Don't linger just for the sex; it ruins all.
Orioles sing, butterflies dance, glory of youth grows old.
As our hot stove boils tea, the fragrance of old eggs.
Make-up on, singing done, we can do as we please no more.
Alone, one fragrant blossom, returns to her chamber once more.
This peom is probably a lyric, which is a Chinese poet's words set to a tune known to his listeners. Or hers, as the case may be. As Bao Junhui is living, or trapped, in the Six Palaces of the consorts, it would be a song the other women knew, probably, and not for someone like the emperor.
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