Just because I can do everything in the world, I am full of leisure troubles.
In the yard, the idle windows are deep in spring, the heavy curtains are not heavy, and the lyre leans against the floor speechless. The distant mountains urge dusk, and the breeze blows the rain and hits the shadow lightly. Pear blossoms are hard to thank.
Beautiful women are always stupid, worthy of sympathy and not cheap. Just because I can do everything in the world, I am full of leisure troubles.
The dream is broken and the heart is broken, and the horn blows the plum blossom month.
The empty mountains are bathed in a new rain, and feel the early autumn at night. The bright moon shed clear light from the cracks and cleared the fountain on the rocks. The bamboo forest is sonorous, the washerwoman returns, and the lotus leaves are swaying to get on the canoe. Spring spring might as well give it a rest, and the autumn sun can stay on the hills for a long time.
Lonely boudoir, one inch sad and tender. Cherish the spring to go, when to rush the rain. Leaning against the post is just not in the mood! Where are people? Even it's getting dark, and the way home is broken.
Flowers wither and red apricots are small. Swallows fly, green water people go around. There are few branches blowing willows, and there are plenty of fragrant grass in the sea! Swing inside and outside the wall. The layman in the wall, the beauty in the wall laughs. Laughter dies in silence, but passion is mercilessly annoyed.
Flowers are fading, grass is resting, the scenery in the hotel is beautiful, and some seasons have passed.
Since ancient times, I have been affectionate and hate-free, but this endless sadness is endless.
From then on, there is no good night, let him go down to the west wing in the bright moon.