For pure you have come and pure you repair,
Lest you fall into some foul ditch or mire.
I hold a burial when you die today,
But there’s no telling when I pass away.
Others laugh at me that have buried thee,
Who will be the one that shall bury me?
At the farthest end of the sky,
Where can I find the grave of my fragrance lie?
The end of spring makes flowers fall one by one,
It’s also the time when beauty meets its doom.
Once beauty is carried to its very tomb,
Both beauty and flowers perish known to none.
责任编辑：虫虫
