Swim under the clear sky and find fragrance in the chrysanthemums. Bringing sound to the pistil, even the shadow is in the fragrance. Go and live in the remaining fog, and follow the wind up and down. I feel ashamed that I am a strange butterfly and cannot communicate with the dream soul. ——"Cold bees picking chrysanthemum pistils"
Wandering bees play with butterflies beside thousands of doors, and there are thousands of colors of green trees and silver platforms. ——Lu Zhaolin's "Ancient Meanings of Chang'an"
Wandering bees compete with each other for their thorns, and so do the fighting birds_. They are born to be petty and do not like splendor. ——Yuan Zhen's "Fragrant Tree"
You should laugh at the vulgar plum and peach, and the wordless translation will attract the wild bees and light butterflies. ——Zhu Xi's "Niannujiao·A Smile in the Wind"
The rain comes at night and the wind is wild, destroying the fragrance of the West Garden. At dawn, bees and butterflies wander in the sky, looking for red brocade makeup in suffering. ——Aluwei's "The Resentment of the Concubine of Xiang"
The swallows peek into the curtain, and the bees come to paint the clothes. ——Zhang Ruoxu's "Answer to a Girlfriend's Dream"
When I visited the Spring and Autumn Society, the buzz was noisy in the morning and evening. ——Liu Tingxin's "Yan'er Lost the Victory Order"
Yamen honey is ripe and fragrant and sticky white, and Liang Yan's nest becomes moist and red. ——Tang Yin's "Poetry of Falling Flowers"
The Xiaoyuan Huachi is full of beautiful scenery, and the threshold in front of the back door is full of endless thoughts. Concubine Mi's waist is thin enough to be exposed, while Zhao Hou's body is as light as leaning against the wind. The red wall is lonely and the cliff is full of honey, and the green curtain is far away and the mist is empty. The pink butterflies in Qingling are separated from their hatred, and they will meet again in mid-February. ——"Bee" Li Shangyin
Little Pingting, cyan lead pigment, bee yellow secretly fainted. ——Wu Wenying's "Flower Prisoner·Xiao Pingting"
I dug the acacia kiln for no reason, where there are bees and butterflies arrayed in the nest of swallows and warblers. A thousand years of infatuation are in vain. Not having a message is like a bamboo swaying in the wind, not having a refuge is like a catkins fluttering in the wind, not having a life is like a flower falling in the wind. Zheng Guangzu's "Criticizing Yulang Bei"
Pick vegetables for an outing, while the bees follow the butterflies, and the scenery of the Qingming Festival will be lost forever. ——Wu Qian's "Er Lang Shen·Xiaoting Migong Yi"
Who knows how to be romantic and frighten the bees looking for beauty?
——Wang Heqing's "Xianlu·Zui Zhongtian·Ode to the Big Butterfly"