蝶恋花·春景

The blossoms have shed their last red, and the green apricots are small. When the swallows fly, the green water circles round the houses of men. Upon the branches, the willow catkins are blown fewer and fewer — yet under all heaven where is there no fragrant grass?

Inside the wall a swing, outside the wall a road; the traveler outside the wall, and the fair girl inside the wall, laughing. Her laughter grows fainter, the sound dies away — the one with feeling is tormented by the one without.