The majestic pavilion of the emperor is finally the habitat of butterflies
The partridge painted on the screen, full of sorrow and sorrow, frightened the jackdaws perched on the branches outside the Great Wall. Under the peonies, the sound can be heard far away. Under the green window with high bead curtains, the tangled branches and pedicles of withered spines are pruned. Listen quietly to Zigui's cry among the miserable grass and red grass. Why not go back? Why not go back?
The landscape is splashed with indigo and mixed with blue, mixed with the beautiful water and lotus flowers ten miles away from Hengtang, and the fragrance flows into the poem. At night in the garden when the moon is dimmed by the lanterns and the flowers are blocked by flying canopies, I sing a song that will leave my soul in a state of terror. The scorching peach and willow tree depicted on the play folds the past events of Penglai into a good story. Accompanied by the performers' lowered eyebrows, clusters of hibiscus blossoms bloom on the gold-coloured skirt.
The snow has just begun to fall at night, the east wind is thawing, the brocade curtains are pulled high and people are begging for wine, and the fragrance that enters the nose prompts the peach blossoms ten miles behind the Jialan Temple to bloom. Continuous haze, accompanied by harps, bells and drums, lingers on the boat in a green color, just like when I accidentally knocked over the dowry in my cardamom years, gold, silver, blue and musk deer were scattered all over the place, as flawless as the pearls and jade in my eyes.
The fog lost the tower, the moon lost the Jindu, and the feelings that looked like roses could not find their way back in the six reincarnations, but my unrepentance only resulted in eternal damnation. The peach blossoms are in ruins and the pear blossoms are in jeopardy. Even though we know that the peach blossom wine in March will not produce white pear blossoms in golden bottles, we still enjoy it and enjoy it as sweet as sweet cakes.
The pearl of regret is cold, the purple jade is sinking in smoke, the peach blossoms in front of me are still blooming all over the river.
The mountain rain is about to come and the wind is late, who can promise anyone a life of peace; if you have a heart, you are just a swallow between the beams, and the habitat is a pair; the dead trees and flowers, the afterglow is colorful, only for one word, I am a fallen leaf, and my heart is early.