Look at the sun, although it is dazzling, it is only near dusk.
Your lyre is like a singing voice, listening to the cold.
Wildfire never completely devoured them, but they got tall again in the spring breeze.
Bringing a separated heart, the (quiet) lovesickness begins at dusk.
I don't know where autumn frost looks for mirrors (scenery).
I never get tired of seeing it, only Jingting Mountain.
And heaven remains our neighbourhood, Jiang Qingyue was born in Beijing.