ancient style poetry
Dong Xiange
洞仙歌
Li Yuanying
Lian fine rain, wind, such as sleepy languor.
Ying-off thousands of whom hate wires.
Chu Palace to a dream, eternal sadness, no place to ask.
To now not entirely unhappy.
Clear all tears, weeping willow stick flowers, often with the man of solitary with stuffy.
Remember the past, proud of office, Jiu Li Fang Rong, cowardly Qing Han, Jade Incense Run.
But this is not knowledge, feeling the suffering of the ban on the eaves drip sound, Yehan light halo.
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