The poems praising our courtyard garden are as follows:
1. The courtyard is deep, with willows piling up smoke and no heavy curtain outside.
2. There is no alternative but to let the flowers fall. It seems familiar that the geese have returned, and the small garden is wandering alone.
3. my path has wound, through a sheltered hollow, of boughs and flowers, to a Buddhist retreat.
4. my path is full of petals -- I have swept it for no others, my thatch gate has been closed -- but opens now for you.
5. Going to the West Building alone without words, the moon is like a hook, and the lonely phoenix tree deep courtyard locks the clear autumn.