"After all," observed Li Wan, "it's the Princess of Heng Wu, who expresses herself to the point."
Next they bestowed their attention on the following lines, composed by
Pao-yü:—
Thy form in autumn faint reflects against the double doors.
So heaps the snow in the seventh feast that it filleth thy pots.
Thy shade is spotless as Tai Chen, when from her bath she hails.
Like Hsi Tzu's, whose hand ever pressed her heart, jade-like thy soul.
When the morn-ushering breeze falls not, thy thousand blossoms grieve.
To all thy tears the evening shower addeth another trace.
Alone thou lean'st against the coloured rails as if with sense imbued.
As heavy-hearted as the fond wife, beating clothes, or her that sadly
listens to the flute, thou mark'st the fall of dusk.
When they had perused his verses, Pao-yü opined that T'an Ch'un's carried the palm. Li Wan was, however, inclined to concede to the stanza, indited by Pao-ch'ai, the credit of possessing much merit. But she then went on to tell Tai-yü to look sharp.
"Have you all done?" Tai-yü asked.
So saying, she picked up a pen and completing her task, with a few dashes, she threw it to them to look over. On perusal, Li Wan and her companions found her verses to run in this strain:—
Half rolled the speckled portiere hangs, half closed the door.
Thy mould like broken ice it looks, jade-like thy pot.
This couplet over, Pao-yü took the initiative and shouted: "Capital." But he had just had time to inquire where she had recalled them to mind from, when they turned their mind to the succeeding lines:
Three points of whiteness from the pear petals thou steal'st;
And from the plum bloom its spirit thou borrowest.
"Splendid!" every one (who heard) them conned over, felt impelled to cry. "It is a positive fact," they said, "that her imagination is, compared with that of others, quite unique."