The bright moon is already late, and the rouge is prematurely old.
The seven strings are as picturesque as looking for smoke, and the desolation comes from the far path.
The sound of the piano hurts the heart, and the flying snow commemorates the passing years. The charm of the water falls on people's hearts, and the lone wild goose has been singing for ten years.
When the mandarin ducks are separated, no flowers bloom at the end of spring.