Daiyu's poem about burying flowers:
When the flowers fade, the flowers fly all over the sky.
Who can pity the red flowers when their fragrance disappears?
The hairspring is soft and thin, floating on the spring pavilion,
The fallen catkins lightly stick to the embroidered window.
The daughter in the boudoir cherishes the twilight of spring,
She is full of sorrow and has nowhere to go.
Peel the flowers out of the embroidery window with your hands,
Tread on the fallen flowers repeatedly.
Willow silk and elm pods come from Fangfei,
Who cares about peach blossoms and Li Fei.
The peaches and plums will bloom again next year.
I will know who will be in my boudoir next year.
In March, the fragrant nest is first built,
The swallows between Liang are too ruthless.
Although you can peck at the flowers next year,
But the nest will be empty when people leave.
Three hundred and sixty days a year,
The wind, the sword, the frost and the sword force each other.
How long can the bright and fresh beauty last?
It is difficult to find it once it is wandering.
The flowers are easy to see when they are in bloom but hard to find when they are gone.
The flowers are buried in sorrow in front of the steps.
I hoe the flowers alone and secretly shed tears.
Sprinkle the empty branches and see traces of blood.
The cuckoo is speechless at dusk,
The cuckoo returns with the hoe to cover the heavy door.
The green lantern shines on the wall when the person is sleeping for the first time,
The cold rain hits the window and the quilt is not warm.
Kuainong's troubles are doubly distressing,
Half pity for spring and half anger for spring.
The pity for spring comes and goes, and the anger goes away.
It comes and goes without words.
Last night there was a sad song outside the pavilion,
I knew it was the soul of the flower and the soul of the bird.
The soul of a flower is hard to retain as the soul of a bird.
The bird is speechless and the flower is ashamed.
May I have wings today,
Fly with the flowers to the end of the sky.
Where is the fragrant hill at the end of the sky?
It is not like a brocade bag to collect its bones,
A piece of pure earth covers the wind.
The essence comes and goes clean again.
Don’t let the dirt fall into ditches.
You will be buried after you die now.
I don’t know when I will be buried.
The person who buries flowers today laughs like crazy,
I don’t know who he buries next year.
Just watch the spring flowers gradually fall,
It is the time when beauty dies of old age.
Once the beauty is gone in spring, the beauty will grow old,
The flowers will fall and the people will die.