Poems about wordlessness

I go to the west wing alone without words, and the moon is like a hook. The lonely sycamore tree deep courtyard locks up the clear autumn.

I care for nothing, but I have a thousand lines of tears.

How can I stand the wind and cold?

The Xiao Xuan window is dressing and caring for nothing, only a thousand lines of tears.

The creation is silent but affectionate, and every time it is cold, it feels deep in spring. < p