Tears hide the pavilion and flowers fly, and the incense dust scatters a few degrees.
Jasper cold smoke locks a heavy building, where is infinite sorrow?
The past can be years, and the wine is full of sorrow.
Luan mirror, tears, tears, autumn rain wet Weicheng.
Think of the past and look at the vast sidewalk.
In the past, the Central Plains was silent about lanterns, but now it is silent about lanterns.
The song is full of flying flowers and heartbroken, and there is no language to see Fujian Xiaoxiang.
Six-string songs cut off the flowing water in the east and drowned the poplars in the sunset.
The sun and autumn will never cry. People will leave their songs and drink their sorrows.
It's a long way. I'll have a drink with you.
The willow embankment in Pinghu is getting dusk, and the purple desert is full of dust.
It's a weeping horse, and only one song belongs to Iraqis.
The dark moon meteor breaks the purple sky, and a flute of dust steps on the residual red.
From then on, I have to worry about Ye Feng in the south of the Yangtze River where to send brocade books.
The night is silent. Sit and watch the night sky in silver moon.
There were countless reunions and departures in the Ming Dynasty, and I recalled this feeling in my leisure dreams.