1. There are infinite painting hands in the world, but a sad painting cannot be completed. ——"Jinling Evening View" by Gao Chan of the Tang Dynasty
Translation: There are countless masters of painting in this world, but none of them can paint the sadness in their hearts.
2. The flying flowers are as light as dreams, and the boundless rain is as thin as sorrow. ——Qin Guan, Song Dynasty, "Huanxi Sha·Momo Qinghan Goes Up to the Small Building"
Translation: Outside the window, flowers are flying lightly and freely, just like in a dream, and the rain is falling, drifting endlessly, just like a dream. Like melancholy flying.
3. There is a sound of Wuye, a sound of autumn, a little bit of banana, a little sadness, and the third watch returns to the dream. ——Xu Zaisi's "Water Fairy Night Rain" in the Yuan Dynasty
Translation: The night rain falls bit by bit on the leaves of the sycamore tree, and the sound of autumn is unstoppable. It hits the banana trees, making people constantly sad. In the middle of the night, I returned to my hometown in my dream.
4. The setting sun on the city is painted with mournful corners, and the Shen Garden is no longer a restored pool. The spring waves under the sad bridge are green, and it was once the shadow of a startled dragon came. ——From "Two Poems on Shen Yuan" by Lu You of the Song Dynasty
Translation: The sound of painted horns on the city wall seems to be mourning. Shen Yuan is no longer the original pool, pavilion and pavilion. The spring water under the sad bridge is still green, and I have seen her beautiful figure floating here like a sudden dragon.
5. Yanyan learns Chu Yin, and disease and bone damage Yousu. Autumn is white, and the leaves are crying in the wind and rain. The green orchid lamp rests, and the moths dance in the falling light. The ancient wall is covered with dust, and the soul is surrounded by dreams. ——Tang Dynasty: Li He's "Sad Journey"
Translation: "Swallow" I imitate the poems of Chu and recite plaintive verses. My sickly body cannot withstand the invasion of the cold. The young body is showing the "autumn appearance" of aging and premature white hair, and the broken branches and leaves are falling one after another in the wind and rain.
The flame of the lamp, which is about to run out of oil, is flashing with a green light like a will-o'-the-wisp, and moths are flapping at the remaining light of the flame that is about to be extinguished. The old wall behind is covered with thick dust, and the soul of a traveler like me is still mumbling to myself in my dream.