On Seeing the Portrait of a Beautiful Concubine
Fine rain,
Spring mud
Slippery as bean curds.
In a rose-red flash, she approaches—
Beautiful, sparkling like wine;
Tottering as though overcome with wine.
Her little feet slip on the sliding path;
Who will support her?
Clearly it is her picture
We see here,
In a rose-red silken dress,
Her hair plaited like the folds
Of the hundred clouds.
It is Manshu.
Ch’en Hung-Shou, 19th Century