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— Zheng Gu Over warm misty grassland wing to wing you fly. As fair and good as pheasants in the mountain high. When Grass-green Lake is darkened in rain, you pass by; When flowers fall on the Imperial Tomb, you cry. A roamer would wet his sleeves with tears on heating your song; His…
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— Zheng Gu The vernal breeze has brightened your color so fine; You stir my mind to write a verse before good wine. With rain impearled on you, more beautiful you grow; You’re all the more bewitching when about to blow. The fair forgets to powder her face before you; The painter hesitates to…