"What are they like?" they all thereupon inquired of Tai-yü.
"This is naturally a hard job for her!" Tai-yü rejoined. "They're not yet as good as they should be. This stanza is far too forced; you must write another."
One and all however expressed a desire to look over the verses. On perusal, they read:
'Tis not silver, neither water that on the windows shines so cold.
Selene, mark! covers, like a jade platter, the clear vault of heaven.
What time the fragrance faint of the plum bloom is fain to tinge the
air,
The dew-bedecked silken willow trees begin to lose their leaves.
'Tis the remains of powder which methinks besmear the golden steps.
Her lustrous rays enshroud like light hoar-frost the jadelike
balustrade.
When from my dreams I wake, in the west tower, all human trace is
gone.
Her slanting orb can yet clearly be seen across the bamboo screen.
"It doesn't sound like a song on the moon," Pao-ch'ai smilingly observed. "Yet were, after the word 'moon', that of 'light' supplied, it would be better; for, just see, if each of these lines treated of the moonlight, they would be all right. But poetry primarily springs from nonsensical language. In a few days longer, you'll be able to do well."
Hsiang Ling had flattered herself that this last stanza was perfect, and the criticisms, that fell on her ear, damped her spirits again. She was not however disposed to relax in her endeavours, but felt eager to commune with her own thoughts, so when she perceived the young ladies chatting and laughing, she betook herself all alone to the bamboo-grove at the foot of the steps; where she racked her brain, and ransacked her mind with such intentness that her ears were deaf to everything around her and her eyes blind to everything beyond her task.
"Miss Ling," T'an Ch'un presently cried, smiling from inside the window, "do have a rest!"
"The character 'rest;'" Hsiang Ling nervously replied, "comes from lot
N.° 15, under 'shan', (to correct); so it's the wrong rhyme."
This rambling talk made them involuntarily burst out laughing.
"In very fact," Pao-sh'ai laughed, "she's under a poetical frenzy, and it's all P'in Erh who has incited her."