Wine of the grapes,
Goblets of gold--
And a pretty maid of Wu--
She comes on pony-back: she is fifteen.
Blue-painted eyebrows--
Shoes of pink brocade--
Inarticulate speech--
But she sings bewitchingly well.
So feasting at the table
Inlaid with tortoise shell,
She gets drunk in my lap.
Ah, child, what caresses
Behind lily-broidered curtains!
