Apoem says:— For a palace this maiden was born, So timid, so graceful, so slender, Like a tiny bird flitting at morn O’er the dew-laden lily-buds tender. Were this exquisite maid only mine, For never a mansion I’d pine. Another poem runs thus: The music calls; the dancer comes, a swallow gliding in, A dainty little damsel, light as air; Her beauty captivates the guest yet saddens him within, For he must soon depart and leave her there. She smiles; no gold could buy that smile, no other smileth so, No need to deck her form with jewels rare, But when the dance is over and coy glances come and go, Then who shall be the chosen of the fair? The dance ended, Tung Cho bade them lead the maiden in, and she came, bowing low as she approached him. He was much taken with her beauty and modest grace. “Who is she?” said he. “A singing girl; we call her Sable Cicada.” “Then can she sing?” The master bade her sing and she did so to the accompaniment of castanets. There is a measure describing her youthful beauty:— You stand, a dainty maiden, Your cherry lips so bright, Your teeth so pearly white, Your fragrant breath love-laden; Yet is your tongue a sword; Cold death is the reward Of loving thee, O maiden.
Brewitt-Taylor · 1925 · public domain