Spring Rains for the Crops
A shaft of liquid light from the mirrorstand pierces windowsilk;
Where breezes blow along the eaves willow tips hang at angles.
I tidy the books on bamboo shelves and rid them of silverfish;
When I wash inkstones in a spring pond they get splattered with duckweed blossom.
Mulberry leaves are lush, silkworms still hang on their frames;
Sun warming, the queen bee has already sent out her drones.
The boy hangs a pot at his waist and goes after streamwater;
We clean cups in the sunshine for tasting the new tea.
I've spent my youthful years thoughtlessly back in the women's quarters;
My whole life, I've never known anything about cultivating mulberry and hemp.
Along the brushwood fence, wild pea vines are putting forth first tendrils;
Around the steps, the mountain cherry is on the verge of blooming.
Fine rains soak into branches to become the willow's color;
Warm sun nudges into bloom the budding peonies.
Village girls do up their hair in the latest elaborate style
And just before dawn call out to their friends next door,
"Let's pick tea!"
（Maureen Robertson 译）