The Cherries all fall after the spring has gone. Butterflies fly in pairs,
dusting light powder from their wings. To the west of the attic, cuckoos
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sing to the moon. Silk curtains are hanging on jade hooks. My melancholy is like
lingering mist in the twilight.
After the crowds drift away, the alley becomes lonesome. When I gaze at the
lingering mist, the grass in the distance looks hazy. The smoke rising from the
incense burner curls in the shape of a phoenix. My heart is filled with sorrow
when I look back, carrying a silk ribbon in vain.
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In Chinese mythology, during the Warring States Period, King Wang of the
State of Shu lost his kingdom; after he died, he became a cuckoo expressing his
hope and sorrow through his song.