The moon, knowing the stream is quiet, often enters.
Clouds, loving the high mountains, return at dusk.
Wind blows the sail, rolling it up with the clouds.
Birds weigh down flowered branches, bending low over water.
A lone horse parts by the roadside under the moon.
A solitary sail flies into the clouds upon the waves.
By the football field, fragrant grass is short.
Beneath the swing tree, fallen blossoms are many.
Watching the trees, I only fear the flowers will all fall.
Listening to orioles, I don't notice my horse slows.
Carrying wine, reclining on grass, feelings are boundless.
Facing water, watching clouds, my delight is ample.
In literary battles, my brows never turned white.
Brewing wine, I always feel my face reddens first.
A sound falls from the sky within the wind,
All people gaze towards the five-colored clouds.
Immortal flowers part again for three thousand years,
Evening rain has already veiled the twelve peaks.
What are branches full of dew like?
I've seen them weep with plain faces in jade towers.
Green leaves lie in the wind like cut silk.
Red flowers hold dew like tearful makeup.
Green vines with mist cling to ancient pines.
Green bamboos, hazy, reflect water's light.
A clerk wanders leisurely amid mountain hues.
The music hall lies quiet and cool amid water sounds.
Bells chime under the moon in Changzhou Park,
Dew wets fading flowers, birds cry in disorder.
Flowers cluster on the roof like red pearls.
Shoots fill the fence base like purple jade hairpins.
Flowers dance on the wild pond, spreading brocade on ground.
Birds sing in riverside trees, sending off spring's voice.