The quieter the wind, the deeper the night, the cold window of abortion, who will fall asleep with sadness. Float on the curtain, under the candlelight, thinking about whose past, sad about what is left, but leaving behind the door melancholy.
In my dream, I vaguely looked at my lovesick tears, and I was young all over the world. I wanted to break the plum blossoms lightly and leave a lingering fragrance, but I left, leaving the old days alone.
When I woke up, the noise faded away, and the vicissitudes of life in the dust were washed away. Under the dim light, that old face lingered quietly outside the deep cloister, smelling the plum blossom fragrance in this season.
Light pen and ink, shallow whispers, endless tears, endless grievances, how much sorrow there is in the cold, the moon has pale leaves and rain, and drinking a glass of turbid wine hurts people's hearts. Whoever is crazy and frivolous, this situation is over.
Last night, the yard was full of songs and dances. Now the fallen flowers are floating all over the garden, and idle poems are hanging around the beam. How can the snow fall silently? From a distance, flying flowers are falling, insects and birds are crying miserably, the snow is pressing the plum blossoms, and only the residual flowers are smelled.
On the shore of the breeze, Yang Liuan, who buried all the tenderness of yesterday? It's still early at night, singing clear songs with fragrant shadows, and getting drunk as soon as I sing.
Looking back on the years of living together, I have no dreams tonight, but I am far away from Changting. The courtyard is deep, and I count my steps alone, looking at the plum blossoms on a cold night, but my tears flow first. What good is fleeting youth to us? Bloom is more beautiful than a beautiful girl. I'm not sure she looks old when the flowers fall, but how can she know that spring is infinitely beautiful when it comes and goes?
The face is gone, who appreciates youth, wants to hold the winter snow and keep the fragrance, and the flying snow turns into heartless tears. After the dance, Butterfly's tears have faded. Who will pay a romantic visit to Lin Tai? Yue Bai will linger for a while, while I will cry and laugh in vain, leaving two gaps, and Xiao Ying will be buried by dew.
Leaning against the fence, looking from a distance, the snow falls on the road and the world is boundless. Looking at the light frost at night, how much melancholy, who still misses the old face, but regards the waning moon in the water as a mirror flower.
Man dances with a pen in his hand, caresses the piano with his arms bent, knocks a dead snow ballad, composes a flower burial song, and expresses the melancholy of life outside the courtyard.
Plum blossoms have fallen, and the lingering fragrance still exists, adding to the sadness and parting. Pick up the residual flowers, bury them by the trees, and open them in autumn and winter.
The messy shirt and the white bun on the teenager's body are haggard for Iraq and fall outside the snow. Let it flourish, but it is just a clear autumn dream.
In the old days, I was worried like a dream, worried like a brow, infatuated once, intoxicated once, and couldn't stop. Snow can't understand my heart, and I can't stay in my dream, sighing about the immortal flowers and thinking about the world of mortals.
Deep courtyard winding path jade pillow cold gauze pavilion, giving wine at dusk, idle to three or two sad poems. The breeze is broken and there is no trace to be found. Where did love go? I don't want to find it, but I will always be disappointed until the moon.