What is the meaning of "A wisp of cold wind sends clear sorrow, a plain heart is a prisoner"? I'm not sure what it means.

The heart if snow, slowly write the levy Yu Gong words; book incense do wine, sprinkle all the poetry clear chapter; red paper to send a message, the remote delivery of turning obsessive thoughts; waving the pen and ink, condensing rhyme Danqing scrolls. In the years of fireworks, in the lonely pain in the silent counting cold, in the light song and dance in the quiet appreciation of Shaohua, in front of the eaves of the court more waiting for the flowers to blossom and fall, in the dome of the sky to watch the clouds roll. Listening to the rain on the fence, thoughts are swimming in the rain, flying into butterflies. The rain and misty dance of a section, condensed into a curtain of dreams. Lotus feelings, any beautiful acacia cocoon into a butterfly, in the flow of years on the fingertips of the light dance, with a wisp of thoughts, twisting flowers into the dream, picking the stars in the sky, gifted with the solution to the love of the language of flowers. Gaze at, low brow, if the heart of the gift, there is no harm in the distance. The sail of love is stranded in the windless sea. The heart of the budding, misty in the song of the summer night, lost. If you have loved and suffered, then you will know the truth and the falsehood, the starting point and the end point, but you can't escape from the deepest dialogue of your heart. I read a piece of paper, a poem written for you, thinking about the lingering of the clean lotus root. The egret that walks leisurely along the line is looking down. A strand of unfinished love, overflowing, that ancient ferry, long bamboo flute, interpretation, the red dust of the ancient song. Borrowing a piece of paper, with ink as the word, with the elegance of the Song lyrics, stretching the sadness between your eyebrows, with the fragrance of the flowers, coloring the charm of your earthly world. I'll scoop up a handful of water, cut a breeze, carry a thousand thoughts, quietly quiet in the world, and lightly abide by each other. The long-lasting fragrance, such as autumn water like silk, drunken heartstrings, lingering fingers, carrying thoughts, in the night cool as water, rain light cold Shaohua, waiting for the blue water long days, looking at the wind and moon deep long ...... ● Tonight, stood in the shade of the sunlight and clouds. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get the best out of it, but I'm sure I'm going to be able to get the best out of it, and I'm sure I'm going to be able to get the best out of it. I don't know how much more my slender soul can carry for you. I'm afraid that if I wait for a few more seasons of blossoming and falling flowers, my pen and ink will gradually become cold. I don't know if you will still ring the beautiful myth that I have been sleeping for thousands of years, and play a song for me to cleanse the dust of my heart? The willow fluttering, misty wind of the quiet humor. Tears in the eyes, butterfly language wind windy quiet night. Who is your watch, who will read your despair. If there is an afterlife, I will be an unfeeling person, drink the Mona's soup, walk across the Naiho Bridge, cut off the ancient love affair, forget the thousand years of love, and bury the oath on the Three Lives Stone forever. In this way, will there be no more love left? Will there be no trace of a broken heart? Is it possible to have no feelings and no injuries? The end of the night if the light, dream shadow leaning on the flowers to send each other tired. I can't stop thinking about the tenderness of my arms, the lightness of my sorrows, the elegance of my arms, and the flavor of my paper; I can twist the three colors of the moon, and brew them into a floral fringe, and let my destiny be displaced, and the fate of the world be wasted. Dreams apart from the end of the world, the thought of the end of the world, your shadow is faint as smoke and arashi, but always in my distant line of sight, with a soft finger, through the willows on the other side of the bank, with a wisp of wind, flying through the thousand years of dust and smoke, and you are drunk in the incense around the painting building, the dream of the flowers between the ...... ● The night is very thick, the dream is too skinny, who would be willing to wait for who? The life of the long, gorgeous chapter, who would like to stay for who? The fireworks can't be cut, the love can't be cut. A handful of rain, fold a flower of longing, leisurely floating across the chrysanthemum platform, stepping on the autumn clean water, with the hope of condensing your figure, told the sadness of the dream breaks the sadness of the pharynx, just, I do not know can hear me in the red dust in the quiet less sighs? Can you sense my tired heart is aging day and night? Dance lightly with your delicate fingers, through the oblique wind and clouds, cut a plain dress for your mood, with a shallow and thin sentiment, swim into the ink text gently written into the flow of years. Cutting a sunset flow of light, holding a deep love, scooping up a shallow pity, swaying the heart of the delicate dance drunken breeze and moonlight, listening to the passage of time since the opening of the self-fall. The dusty look back, see the splendor of a firework, guard a section of the plain water flow, through the dust of the millennium, in your mutual dependence on each other warm. Yesterday's candle-scissors night talk, this night the end of the world to look at the end of the night, this evening, what is the date? For you, pick up the scenery along the way, for you to sing in a low voice, the watery eyes gently convergence, sleep a piece of petals floating in the hair, throw all the way as the watery sound of the heart. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get away with it, but I'm sure I'll be able to get away with it. I'm sure I'll be able to get away with it, but I'm sure I'll be able to get away with it, but I'm sure I'll be able to get away with it, but I'm sure I'll be able to get away with it. Smoke floats lightly, long tassels dance like silk thoughts, flowers and rain gently intoxicated by the butterfly's fragrance. You know, even if you are separated from the landscape, every time the butterfly wing opens and closes, it will bloom a petal of the flower's sadness. The color of water and the shadow of clouds, how much I want to use the fragrance of flowers to warm up the eye of the clear water color, only to leave the bright and charming reflection of all the scenery, even if the silence, still happy. The green smoke of the night, rippling the fragrance of the breath, hazy and desolate mood, the knot in the knitted brows of sadness, gently flicked down, rubbed a strand of sadness, scattered to do the end of the world song, speechless with the flowers fall. How can I sing a song in the beautiful words of the wind and the moon? If the red dust can be seen through, just want to filter out a dust, no need to pianos for me around the shoulder, messy red for me to pave the ground, would like to be an idle flower, light and shallow bloom, let the seasons alternating, let the tide come and go, adhere to the purity of a side of the soul, away from the secular strife, far away from the complexity of the earth, with a wisp of fragrance make-up the dress of the dream. The night murmurs, guard a round of curved moon, cut a thin shadow, cut a few petals of the heart, sleep a watery paper, pull a few strands of rain, hanging into the dream of the misty, dipped in the night for the ink, kneaded the fluttering reverie, collect the heart of that deep longing, let the past pale, broken and dyed the flow of the years! The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the best ones. The first thing you need to do is to collect the moonlight and look at the water, and then you can't get to the other side of the river, and then you have to put it on a piece of paper, and then you have to put it on a piece of paper, and then you have to put it on a piece of paper, and then you have to put it on a piece of paper, and then you have to put it on a piece of paper. The night is quiet, thoughts like flowers fluttering, mist light veil through the cold, a piece of the body and mind, a thousand lines of tears, full of eyes all the sour, the clouds are deep and no ferry. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to talk about it! The night wind caresses the window pillow cold, always used to stop in the words, see the flowers blossom and fall, the clouds roll. Regardless of how the seasons change, what remains unchanged is the obsession that is held in the heart of the hand. Life, even if it is not complete, is a kind of broken beauty, even if sad, is a kind of happy pain. Embracing the stranded moonlight, murmuring alone, when the dark fragrance floating, full of paper sadness buried in the fragrance of flowers, picking up the residual fragrance of the fallen flowers, in the fingertips of the softly pouring, in love with the voice of the heart, entangled in the sleepless moonlit night, thinning into a long verse, with a lonesome wisp of fragrance, left in the red dust in the depths of the place. A few minutes of idleness, listening to the rain knocking on the windowsill, watching the flowers blossom silently, butterflies dance silently, the mind as light as light smoke, just want to hold a handful of broken time, with a piece of paper, ink, describe a few strokes of the gorgeous heart, in the ups and downs of the Tang and Song poems, the shallow drink sings the beautiful season ...... Looking at the moon from the window, listen to the wind curl, listen to the clouds and the moon, the flowers whisper, the heart as a fiber, the heart as a fiber, and the heart as a fiber, the heart as a fiber. Keeping a section of poetry, a wan fragrance, the heart into a bun, colorful clouds into flowers, a strand of thoughts lingering fingertips, around the endless tenderness, not finish the thoughts, from then on can be that a flat boat, only carrying the spring light does not carry sadness. The fine rain and smoke, the wind and dust incense, with a flower rain and budding spring appointment, in the spring of the delicate dance, a bosom of elegance. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm going to be able to do it, and I'm not going to be able to do it. I just want to hold on to the charm and sorrow of the years, smiling lightly, lightly crossing the red dust, looking at the clouds and sky. Light like water, can not be washed, dust like snow, the evening wind like scissors, shear, soft silk thousand, soft spring breeze, with the light fragrance of flowers, accompanied by the moonlight, floating down the dust and smoke, sunk in the night, falling full of fragrant paper, like fireworks scattered, dancing in the dream, the poignant sentiments into a touch of red. A night of rain and smoke, the remnants of the red all over the ground, had also delicate stand branch, but now the flowers have become hurt, even if the flowers have flowers when the flowers are still blossoming, and still pity that the petals withered the bleak and helpless! Faint thoughts, perched as a butterfly, gather a shoulder of flowers, dyeing a few ink colors, in the softest corners of the heart diffuse, strangers in the red dust, who draws the ground into a prison, always out of the end of the world, looking back at the lights, can be loved to forget, whose feelings in the years of change can be the same as the old days? People at the end of the world, the heart at hand, in love with a memory, dense a touch of tenderness, waiting for a piece of text, quiet taste of your heart, but also a smile, so that once drunk into the heart of the dream, condensed into a tree in front of the window fragrance ...... wind in love, the star weary soundless, the lonesome moon according to the clear shadow, the wind is drunk with the obsessed, to guard the silence of the night, a wisp of the moon's cold, accompanied by a song of the lingering cold. The winds of the night, the winds of the moon, the dream of the heart ...... The rain is drizzling, the mist is like a veil, the willows contain clear dew, the fragrance of the flowers is falling, the shadows of the street lamps, the butterflies are dancing among the flowers, and the red color of the flowers are looking at the red color, the heart is throbbing, and the mind is full of thoughts, and it is intoxicated with the rhythm of spring, and the beauty of the poems ...... The window of the small pavilion is looking at the east hedge, and the window is looking at the east hedge. The small window, remote view of the east hedge chrysanthemums, wind and rain lock dashing cold, flying flowers fall red thin, around the fingers of the cloud smoke extinction, love broken dream has been disabled, sigh life, a few times the clutch, such as the ghost of thought, who to understand? The rain listens to the ancient rhythms, the cold wind adds loneliness, looking at the clouds and the moon, lingering in love, the fragrance of the ink coated with plain paper, it is difficult to express the feelings of the pen, the cold moon is clear and cold, the shallow dance of lovesickness, laughingly asking the red dust, how many people penetrate it? The night wind, the cold moon as a cry, full of thoughts, empty silence like smoke, the heart is not dependent on the dream is not sent, is the love of the past to hold the idea, or the love of the depth of the bondage, frustration! Cold wind luxuriant, willow long not green, warbler fly without a trace, gather also Yi Yi, scattered also Yi Yi, heart miserable, like cold smoke, residual shadow of a single cold, falling shadow of the pain of the heart, this shore watch, lovesickness such as snow ...... Willow wadding fluttering, butterflies go to the flower residue, falling flowers sleepless, dreaming of turning, heart is still, the dream is still, why the fate of the shallow, the end of the world, the red dust is deep, forgotten between the water and the clouds! Autumn rain, hazy, leaning alone on the windowsill, melancholy, holding a sleeve of autumn sorrow, so that the dust of a sigh, condensed into thoughts of melancholy, floating with the wind! The wind, flowers, snow and moon, drunkenness alone, as if pitying a pillow of dreams, tearful farewell to the heart, complaining about the long days of love, not yet pity, tenderness a few, difficult to understand the meaning of love, the heart is still the same, the dream is still the same, there are no words, also broken, how can a farewell to a long day of water. Alone leaning against the window looking at the moon, willow shadow, a wisp of sadness in the autumn wind, speechless sadness entangled in the heart, cut the incessant sadness of departure, but it is difficult to rest, alone in this leaf-fall in the late autumn! I can't find the intersection of the past, the cold autumn wind will blow my heart through, everything seems to be like water drifting, cut off the incessant sadness want to stop but difficult to rest, alone in this leaf fall in the late fall! The heart is like a dream, the dream woke up eventually did not stay, why should this life again attached to the edge of the dispersal of the end, gently turn around, to keep that part of the calm, no longer stained with dust! As a flower, when it blooms, it is beautiful, when it goes, it hurts, and when it wakes up, it is hard to stay! But the past, all the past, all the drift, love has been dusty! Empty left a pillow of fallen flowers scented like the old ...... red color has a dream, come and go in a hurry, the prosperity of the end, all into smoke and rain, with the flowers, with the moon bends, the frost and cold, heavy dew, at hand, at the end of the world, I'm lonely as a smoke, you sit alone as a lotus flower. How much love can live and die, and how much love can last forever? How many lovers can not walk into each other in this life, can only bitterly meet in the next life. The heart is like stagnant water, life is not happy, how to die, the heart of the world a cold, how I hope to have a cup of forgetfulness of the water, will be my thoughts and heartache, together with cut off. I wish I could have a cup of water to forget my thoughts and heartache, and cut them off. Since it's a week old on earth, there's no harm in having dusk in the sky. How many joys and hates, every year and in this night. How many past events, dots and dashes into nothing, a thousand threads, into the heart of infinite pain, in and out of the dream, laughter and tenderness still in the mountain alliance is still only a lone shadow left to wander alone. A leaf of lovesickness sends old sorrows, when the dream breaks at the blah, the falling flowers drift without words, the fine rain brushes the willow, the sycamore falls into autumn, the feelings are tied to the orchid boat. A pen of sadness, shaking down the paper full of words, a sigh of light, repeated into the old tune. Who is the flavor of attachment, condensed in the tip of the heart of the eyebrow, any one of the warm and soft love, thinning out the once lifting the case of the incense pillow love thick? Who is the one who, in the midst of the smoky rain, carries the meandering verses and the fragrance of the fallen flowers, and picks up the loving tenderness between the lines? In the ancient sky of oblivion, who wandered in the wind and moon, singing and chanting sourly for you? Who is still on the water's edge, gently folding a leaf of vanilla? Who is the one who gives his thoughts to the flowing water, and who is the one who is floating in the lightness of his heart? A broken heart, with whom to lean on the willow color in the smoke? With whom do you talk happily in front of the flowers under the moon? For whom is the heart of the song of love? Across a river of misty rain, standing in the memory of a faraway obsession, any time erosion of the millennium of the remnants of the dream, but only want to cross the distance in space and time, in the eternal Tang poetry and Song lyrics, to sing you! Leaning on the fence leaning against the window, sending thoughts from afar, the midnight dream, who face empty skinny love is difficult to send parting sadness. Reed reed pale, who in the water side of the waiting look forward to the end of the world. The depths of the red dust who stirred up a pool of spring water, ruffled drunken end of the world in love. The first thing you need to do is to get a good deal of money to pay for the services you need, and then you can get the money to pay for the services you need. Under the Chong Hua, the brocade clothes and neon dresses danced for you in all the elegance of three lifetimes and blew away the dust and sand all over your body. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world! The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and you'll be able to do that. The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night. In front of the Broken Bridge, the red color makeup for the gentleman to keep a life of flowers, flowing out of a world of splendor! Autumn appendage, in the flowers stand alone gaze, the sky soft petals, are falling, shaking down the fragrance all the way, condensing into the fall of the susceptible eyes. In the petal rain of the falling flowers, the light and shadow of the current year dances up the unspeakable sentimental, piercing through the wheel of the ages, such as the butterfly dance wings, fluttering into the dream. At this moment, I just want to sleep with the falling flowers, with the ghost of the falling flowers across the millennium, in the vastness of the ferry, with you hand in hand with the wind and rain in the world, look at the poetic lushness of the passing years. Falling flowers are colorful, along with the heart of the month, turning and falling into a mound, thoughts lingering, like the moonlight cascading down the treetops as soft and beautiful. The love is long, such as the poem winding longing like timeless and profound. Open the lintel of your heart, and look through the autumn water with your eyes. Carrying a wisp of wind, sweeping across the lake, startling ripples; play a Xiao sound, such as sobbing like a complaint, long flowing rhyme end fly. Whose lapel is wet at night, whose thoughts are whisked away by the wind, and whose heart will the trickle of words flow to? A touch of red in the years has embellished a lifetime of spring and autumn; a beam of light from the fireworks has shattered a moment of splendor. The smoke and rain of the red dust, who disturbed the old dreams of youth; dust settled, who told the parting of the feelings. The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of a dance, and I was in the middle of a play, and I was in the middle of a play. Listening to the distant flute, but it is a pity that the sentiment is painful, looking at the near water, but it is a pity that the pain is like a dream, who will see through the red dust, who will be shallow words, and who can extinguish the fireworks of this world? The depths of the red dust, who is in the light of the slow twist of a wisp of sadness, who is in the ghost of a low cry? Who is the one who sings the words of a paragraph of poignancy? Who is the one who sings a poignant elegy? Who has fallen into the mortal world and sung in the pool? Looking through the curtain, lightly locked between the eyebrows, whose heart hurts? Whose life is in turmoil? Curtain rolled west wind, people are thinner than the yellow flowers, delicate fingers a song, can not brush is too much sorrow, can not fall is the drop of tears of lovesickness! The city looks back, the heart is like smoke and rain, when the wind rises, shaking down a patchwork of acacia, alone intoxicated by the euphemism of the text, looking forward to, in the deepest red dust and you meet, *** happy long tone. The road is long, the love is far away, how many love threads are entangled in the earth? The most important thing to remember is that you have to be able to get the best out of your life, and you have to be able to get the best out of your life, and you have to be able to do it. The depths of the red, thousands of feelings, how many favorites? It is always difficult to cross the distance between the sky and the earth, and it is difficult to cut off the love. The snow, the moon, the wind, the flowers, the empty love, the only melancholy! Autumn rain is continuous, involving a lot of loneliness, some thoughts. Like the autumn rain, in love with her ethereal and pure, infatuated with her romantic and lingering. Xiaoxiao falling leaves, autumn rain is fondness, is looking back, is a life after the splendor of the depth of love, is a life after the turn of the mood of the statement. Don't say that she is so miserable to walk through, asphalt rain smoke, once how much grass color luxuriant, flowers enchanting, once how much morning bells and twilight drums, like water flowing years. The night is sleepless, waving the pen into thoughts, dream tossing and turning, want to tell but no words. Who meets who in the red dust? Karma, cold butterfly dream; Karma gathering and dispersing, any drift. I don't want to remember, but I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do it. A dream of red dust and thin shadow, a few times to listen to the rain falling flowers flow. The dream of the flower is hard to keep, the lonely shadow of the moon is in the west building, the cold wind and the dew is bleak, and the new sorrow. A dream of prosperity, a song of the flowers drunk, a red face tears, a thought of the love of broken. The first thing you need to do is to lock your mind in a dream, and let the tears fall! Years of dreams gently slipping, such as the wind over the silent, if the water without trace, such as the story of the flower, the bloom, zero fall into the mud, the sadness of the slightest ripple, roaming through the thousands of mountains and waters. The wind through the treetops, like a tearing of the ears and temples of the sentimental entanglement; look at the moon and gaze at the language, such as the vaguely murmuring murmur in the dream. Point a lonely lamp, show a piece of paper, roll up the sleeves and wield ink, thoughts stained with sadness tip, swimming with the broken remnants of thoughts. With tearful eyes, the feelings of palpitating as in the beginning, shaking the mottled memories. A song of wistful goblet, a dream of broken heart. On the other side of the water, who is still looking back? I remember the past, turned into, seems to be the old man shadow into a pair. Since the drift, who misses the cool west wind. The curtain of prosperity, tears falling like rain, who accompanied you to the end of the world? Dust ink dye, brush painting the current year. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm going to be able to do it," he said. The entrance of Wuyi Lane, in front of Yan Xie Hall. The flowers are in the evening, and the sound of the zither is soft. Listening to the strings break, I see the vicissitudes of the world. The breeze on the fence, thoughts spread like water; independent window, see the sunset send away the day. Half a cup of happiness, a pen into the ink to hear the zither, three life Zhu Ge locks. The empty dust flatboat, cooking word sacrifice deserted years. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do this, but I'm sure I'll be able to do it. The white gauze coat, cage a curtain of smoke and rain. A ripple on the surface of the water, scare the fish under the lotus leaves, listen to the willow bank a pastoral flute. The lotus blossom blooms for three years in March. It is the perfect way to dance under the moonlight and to sing a song. It's a beautiful thing to wear a silver bell, and it's a beautiful thing to wear a silver bell. The first time I saw you, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night. Who is in the rain to look at the world like this? Who waved their sleeves but could not bear to leave? The sun is silent, but look back and see you smile like glass. The moon falls in the cloudy sky who diffuse cover drifting zero mood, fog deep river cold express a paper on the fence intention, when the glory of the end of the disappointment of the old smoke and rain traces, but the road ahead of no time. The moon is hazy by the bridge outside the post, and the cold light is sprinkled on the east side of the bridge. The wind is blowing in the air. A river of smoke and water, six dynasties of dreams, shadow without a trace. The moment of splendor is just a dream of flowers in vain. The peony is red, the heart of the wave trembles, and the tears become a mound. Looking back, another year of wind and rain, the fallen flowers are all gone, the mountains and rivers are far away, the sunset is in the west, I can't see it. The sun sets in the west, and I can't see it. Who is far away in the desert? The lone smoke is straight, the long river is shallow, the slanting sun returns to the end of the world and passes through the years. The sky has been deserted, but the earth has not aged; the sea has changed, but the fields have not. The years, one step, one year, one year, one year, one year. Who lost the years, who left the end of the world empty. Even if the cardamom words work, the green house dream is good, it is difficult to assign deep feelings. The twenty-four bridges are still there, and the waves and the cold moon are silent. I remember the red herbs by the bridge, and I know who they were born for every year! A world of fireworks, cold and silent, whose Shaohua? A stream of clouds and colorful clouds, indifferent to the end of the world? A wisp of seven-colored sunlight, heavy scattered whose sand?