The ancient poem describing butterflies is as follows:
(1) When I first came to the small garden, I had a brief encounter with Suo Wei. Far away, I am afraid that the fragrant dust will break, and I am lightly worried about the beautiful snow melting. I only know how to guard against the dew, but I don't know how to resist the sharp wind. Looking back, the two flying swallows took advantage of the time and entered the Qihu. The long eyebrows are painted with embroidered curtains, and the jasper rows close to the white jade platform. In order to ask about the phoenix on Cui Chai Chai, I don’t know who the fragrant neck is for.
(2) Autumn flowers are purple and autumn butterflies are yellow and velvety. The flowers are low and the butterflies are new and small, flying among the bushes in the west and east. The cool breeze comes at dusk, and the flowers fall one after another. It’s late at night, the dew is white and cold, and the butterflies are dead among the bushes. They live and die in the morning and in the evening, and their qi types follow each other. There are no thousand-year-old cranes, but many hundred-foot-long pines.
(3) Who sent the flower path to the setting sun, and the spring scenery is determined in three parts. The hairspring is unable to tie the waist of the flower, and the branches are so busy that the red flowers drift in disorder.
(4) The sounds in the ears and eyes are always unreal, things and I are the same dust. The butterfly does not know that it is a dream, and the flowers are alive with youth.
(5) Butterfly, late spring. Gillian first wore light yellow clothes and leaned against the window to learn painting. It's like seeing each other among the flowers, flying in pairs against each other. Wiping the rouge with tears for no reason makes the wings hang down.