" A wintry sunset gilds the vine-wreathed door
Where stands, mossed by old rains, the flower pot.
Its snowy blooms, as snow impermanent,
Are as pure as pure white jade that alters not.
O fragrant frailty, that so fears the wind!
Most radiant whiteness! Full moon without spot!
White flower-sprite, shake your silken wings! Away!
And join with me to the hymn the dying day! "

― Cao Xueqin , The Story of the Stone, or The Dream of the Red Chamber, Vol. 2: The Crab-Flower Club