第1个回答 2013-08-30
Telling Innermost FeelingZhang XianBefore the flowers, under the moon, shortly we metOnly to part with bitter regret.Worse still, I wake from wine and dreamsTo find fallen flowers and dim moonbeams. Flowers will bloom again;The moon will wax and wane.Would our hearts be the same?I'd turn into the flameOf my heart, string on string,Into willow twigs to retainThe breeze of spring.