Tang dynasty: Wen
Wicker is long, spring rain is fine, and flowers leak. Startled the geese, rose from the city, and drew a golden partridge.
The fragrance is thin, and it comes through the curtain, and it is sad to thank the pavilion. With red candles on your back and embroidered curtains hanging down, you have a long dream and you don't know it.
The stars are scattered, the bells and drums rest, and Xiaoying fades outside the curtain. The dew is heavy, the wind is slanting, and the court is full of flowers.
On the empty pavilion, leaning against the fence, it is still the same as last year. Spring has gone and spring has come, and there are endless thoughts, and old feelings are like dreams.
Plantagenet hairpin, pink face, meet in the flowers. Know what I mean, sympathize with you, you must ask for it.
Fragrance is an ear, wax is a tear, like the hearts of two people. The mountain pillow is tired, the brocade is cold, and the sleep is more disabled.
Seeing each other rarely, remembering each other for a long time, eyebrows are as light as willow. Hang a green curtain, tie a knot, and wait for Lang Yan to embroider the quilt.
Last month, the city was as white as snow, and cicadas were worried about beauty. Palace trees are dark, magpie bridges are horizontal, and jade cards are reported first.
Back to the river tower, near the sea, the corner of the city sobbed. The dike willows move, the island smoke faint, and two rows of geese divide.
The resumption of Jingkou Road is exactly what Fang Fei wants. The silver candle is exhausted, the jade rope is low, and there are village chickens.
Jade furnace incense, red wax tears, partial according to painting hall Qiu Si. The eyebrows are thin, the eyes are thin, the clouds are residual, and the night is long and the pillow is cold.
Buttonwood tree, it is raining in the middle of the night, and the hobby that never leaves is bitter. A leaf, a sound, empty footsteps fall into the light.