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The glossy black chignon on her head is enclosed in a fret spangled with gold,
Setting off the fragrant clouds of her hair and studded all around with hairpins.
The spit curl at her temple is embellished with a double-headed flower;
A comb of aromatic wood holds her hair in place behind.
Her arched willow-leaf eyebrows would be hard to depict;
As would the pair of peach blossoms that graces her cheeks.
Her openwork pendant earrings are beyond praise;
A glimpse of her smooth creamy bosom is beyond price.
A pale blue homespun blouse, with wide sleeves and jacket to match,
Complements the embossed silk of her beige skirt.
A figured handkerchief dangles from the mouth of her sleeve;
A sachet of pomander hangs low at her waist.
The rows of frogs on her bodice are neatly fastened;
Her ankle leggings, concealed above, extend below.
The upturned points of her tiny golden lotuses are just visible;
With a pattern of mountain peaks embroidered on the tips of their toes,
Her raven-hued shoes, with high white satin heals,
are made to order for tripping the fragrant dust;
Her red silk ankle leggings are figured with orioles among the flowers;
Whether walking or sitting, the breeze parts her skirts and reveals what lies below.
From her mouth the fragrance of orchid and musk is constantly wafted;
When her cherry lips open in a smile her face breaks into bloom.
The mere sight of her makes one's "ethereal and material souls take flight";
Shown off to such advantage, she is a beautiful, if heartless, lover.
- The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Chin Ping Mei. Volume One: The Gathering(1610)
“Do not do what someone else could do as well as you. Do not say, do not write what someone else could say, could write as well as you. Care for nothing in yourself but what you feel exists nowhere else. And, out of yourself create, impatiently or patiently, the most irreplaceable of beings.”
She was asleep; her bare and jewelless finger, placed
beneath her nightgown, quivered; after a deep sigh
it grew still, hitching up the cambric to her waist.
And her belly seemed like a snowdrift where,
while a gold sunbeam lit its forest lair,
the mossy nest of some bright finch might lie.
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