Going to the Mountains with a Little Dancing Girl, Aged Fifteen

Two top-knots not yet plaited into one.
Of thirty years--just beyond half.
You who are really a lady of silks and satins
Are now become my hill and stream companion!
At the spring fountains together we splash and play:
On the lovely trees together we climb and sport.
Her cheeks grow rosy, as she quickens her sleeve-dancing:
Her brows grow sad, as she slows her song’s tune.
Don’t go singing the Song of the Willow Branches,
When there’s no one here with a heart for you to break!