The rain is past, the outmost leaflets show their greenish veins;
Pull down a branch and the fragrant scent’s diffused around;
Both high and low the yellow golden threads are now quite culled,
And my clothes and frock are dyed with odors through and through.
The sweet and fragrant perfume’s like that from the aglaia;
In goodness and appearance my tea will be the best in Wuyuen,
When all are picked, the new buds, by next term, will burst forth,
And this morning the last third gathering is quite done.
Each picking is with toilsome labor, but yet I shun it not.
My maiden curls are all askew, my pearly fingers all benumbed;