The Swing
Poet: Ho Xuan Huong
Glory be to whoever so pleasantly placed the four pillars!
Some climb on to swing, others watch...
Glory be to whoever so pleasantly placed the four pillars!
Some climb on to swing, others watch
The lad arching his crane’s knees strains his loins.
The girl curving her wasp's waist braces wide her haunches.
Four peach pink pantaloons a threshing in the breeze.
Two pairs of legs jerk taut two by two.
Of those who play such vernal games, how many understood:
When the stakes are withdrawn, the shaft holes are left void.
For love, like youth, only lasts a fleeting moment.
