Jade Steps | Ancient Sorrow, Love Affairs Are Like Spring Rain
Jade steps, autumn melancholy, years vanish into darkness. Concealing the deep palace, a fan without purpose. I recall then, cutting out from within my desk, writing on pale silk. Using cinnabar and ink, I painted a maiden of Qin.
The cool robes remain, the zither unplayed. I endure the frost, the gossamer silk drifting to where? From ancient times, this sorrow is due to love affairs, light as spring rain. I yearn to play the zither, yet my regrets are long and unexpressed.
—Yan Qi Dao
Walking through the flower garden. Clothes scented with mist. A new poem, met with the spring equinox. Repeatedly wanting to convey affection, but the swallows never flew. Adorning a jade curtain, reciting the beautiful verses of Lang Xiu.
A single thought of longing. A single wave of melancholy. The most difficult thing to forget is the private conversation in the lamplight. Pear blossoms and lilies, borrowed from dreams, painted along the veranda. Pointing to the spring gown, tears have fallen there.
—Shi Da Zu
Spring sunshine is good. Spring shadows are good. Write some poems about spring rain is best. Spring rain like silk, embroidered with graceful, drooping cherry blossoms. How can I resist, as if inviting Meng Po to mix soap.
Plum blossoms are in a gentle breeze. Peach blossoms are in a gentle breeze. The fragrance of peonies is suddenly cold and bleak. Year after year, spring light, twenty-four winds have aged me. The scent of the litchi tree in a gentle breeze, 'wait a while',
—Jiang Jie
Ten years honing my sword, the Five Immortals gathered guests, spent my whole life weeping and crying. Growing old, composing lyrics, half of it is due to unspoken regrets. How many times have I seen the jade bracelet and phoenix hairpin?
Not learning from Qin Qi, not learning from Huang Jiu, relying on my own new voice, the jade field is close at hand. Wandering along the river, and sharing poems at a festive gathering. I expect to be a Marquis, with no companionship in old age.
—Zhu Yi Zun
Rushes and orchids have no rhythm, peaches and plums are easy to sweep away. Don't count ordinary flowers and weeds. Facing the moon in the wind, always troubled by her. Dreaming of her, the fragrance has reached me.
At the river's edge and along the hills, competing to reach the best spot. One branch of cherry blossoms, always looks good. Like offering a wish to the wind, praying for a good spring. Wishing for the Eastern God to bestow longevity.
—Wu Ming Shi
