Flowers fade, flowers fly all over the sky, and who will pity if the red disappears and the fragrance disappears?
The hair is soft and floating in the spring pavilion, and the falling wool touches the embroidered curtain.
The daughter in the boudoir cherishes the spring dusk and looks sad.
Hoe out embroidered cymbals with your hands and endure falling flowers again and again.
When flowers wither and fly across the sky,
Who pities the faded red, the once fragrant?
Gauze floats gently across the spring pavilion,
Catkin gently floats to the embroidered screen.
A girl is mourning the passing of spring in her room.
Her poor heart knew that her anxiety had not abated,
She walked past her door with a hoe in her hand,
Don't want to step on the flowers that come and go
May slaves have wings and fly to the end of the sky with flowers.
After all, where is Xiangshan?
If you don't collect your beautiful bones,
A piece of pure land covers the air, and the material is clean, so as not to let pollution sink into the ditch.
I am eager to spread my wings and fly.
Take flowers to the end of the earth;
However, at the end of the earth
Where can I find Xiangburial?
It is best to wrap beautiful petals in silk.
Make their coats with clean soil;
Because you are pure, you will leave pure,
Not stuck in a dirty ditch or mire.
The pods of willows and elms come from wheat straw, regardless of whether peaches float with Li Fei.
Peaches and plums can be delivered next year. Who do you know in the boudoir next year?
At the beginning of March, the fragrant nest was built, and Liang Jianyan was too ruthless.
Although you can peck flowers and hairs next year, it is not easy for people to go to the empty nest.
360 days a year, the wind and sword are threatening.
How long can a beautiful fragrance last? Once drifting, it's hard to find.
Willow and elm, fresh and green,
Don't care about the peach blossom and plum blossom falling;
Next year, although you may peck buds again,
Your nest will fall off the beam of the empty room.
360 days a year,
The biting cold wind counterbalances the biting frost.
How long can beautiful flowers last?
In a day, the wind can blow it to the end.
Bloom is easy to see but hard to find, and he is worried about killing the flower burial people.
Leaning on the hoe alone, I shed tears in the dark, and the branches on it saw blood stains.
The cuckoo was silent at dusk, and the lotus hoe returned to cover the heavy door.
When the blue light shone on the wall, people began to sleep, but the window was not warm.
Fallen, the most brilliant bloom is hard to find;
With a bitter heart, their grave digger came.
Alone, with a hoe in his hand, secretly crying
Dropping like blood on the bare branches.
At dusk, the cuckoo is silent;
Her hoe was brought back, and the hut was locked and motionless.
When the sloop hugged her, a green light lit up the wall.
The cold rain hit the window sash and her quilt was cold.
Blaming slaves is double depression, half pity and half trouble.
The flowing spring suddenly goes to trouble and then to silence.
Last night, I sent a sad song outside the court, knowing that it was a flower soul and a bird soul?
The soul of a flower and a bird is always hard to stay, and the bird is ashamed of itself without words.
What caused my double pain?
Love for spring, resentment for spring;
Because it comes and goes suddenly,
Its arrival is unknown, and its departure is silent.
A sad song floated in the yard last night-
Is it the soul of a flower or a bird?
It's hard to keep the soul of a flower or bird,
Because flowers are not sure, birds have no language.
I am going to die and be buried, but I don't know when Nong will die.
The man who buried the flowers is laughing today, but who did he know when he buried them?
Let's see the residual flowers of spring gradually falling, which is the time when beauty dies of old age.
There is no sad song for me, I don't know what happened.
Now that you are dead, I will bury you;
No one predicted the day when I died;
People laugh at my stupidity in burying fallen flowers,
But when I die, who will bury me?
Look, when spring is drawing to a close and the flowers are dying,
This is the season when beauty must ebb and fade;
The day when the wings spread in spring and the beauty withered,
Who will take care of the fallen flower or the dead girl?