A Walk on the Imperial Street· The South Street Grows Willows full of Catkins
By YAN Jidao
Shadily on the south street lush trees grow.
In the spring air A myriad of catkins fly.
The tour route is covered by a thick layer of catkins as white as snow.
Rosy clouds float over the flowering tops of the trees high.
In the shade the red-gated wealthy households lie.
Idly I climb up the north belvedere. Once upstair
I roll up the bamboo curtain sparsely decorated by beads and instantly espy
the tree in the south of the town stand square
which shelters the red gate of my Fair house foursquare.
Having leant against each inch of the handrail though
and seen several dusks rained,
I’m unwilling to go
and for several days here have remained.
I remember that once she galloped around the field which moss reigned
and stopped her steed briefly deep in the shade there.
The fallen flowers have lain
and the unfold splendid screen stands spare,
yet where can I find my peach-pink-faced Fair?