锦瑟 Lyra

Strange it is the Lyra has fifty strings

For every touch plucks a tender past

The dreamer is mesmerized by a butterfly

The prince’s heart is carried by a cuckoo

清平调 A Song of Clear Water

The cloud think of clothing whereas beauty is for the blossom

As spring breeze caressing through pillars and morning dew

Even if not seeing her between the twin peaks of Jade

I would still meet her in a court under the moon