Seeking to return to the Ming Dynasty as an imperial poem is related to flowers and uses many words. It seems that Bloom's flowers have withered ... or something.

A Dream of Red Mansions by Cao Xueqin (sung by Lin Daiyu in the novel)

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, full of sorrow and nowhere to complain. Hoe flowers out of embroidered curtains with your hands and endure falling flowers again and again?

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?

The fragrant nest has been built in March, and Liang Jianyan is too heartless! 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 it be glamorous? Once adrift, it's hard to find.

Bloom is easy to see but hard to find, suffocating the flower burial man in front of the steps. I only shed tears when I hoe incense, but I saw blood stains on the branches above.

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.

Accusing slaves is twice as bad as hurting people? Half out of pity, half out of trouble. Flow spring suddenly to bother, and to silence.

Last night, I sent a sad song outside the court, knowing that it was the soul of flowers and birds. The soul of a flower and a bird is always hard to stay, and the bird is ashamed of itself without words.

May slaves grow wings and fly to the end of the sky with flowers. After all, where is Xiangshan?

Hide the wind without a trick. It's better to be clean than trapped in a ditch.

I was a dead slave, and I was buried. I don't know when slaves will die. The slave who buried the flowers smiled today, but who did he know when he buried the slave?

Let's see the residual flowers of spring gradually falling, which is the time when beauty dies of old age. No sad songs for me, I don't know what happened!