Love is so humble

When love is spoken from the mouth

It is doomed to be lovesickness

Love poetry is so low

When the love poem falls on the paper

Is destined to be a tragedy

Even the most noble soul

For love is also the begging of the world

Such as China

Same thing in the West

This ancient

It's the same in modern times

This emperor

So do the people.

When Cao Zhi wrote his Ode to the Goddess of Luo in Luochuan

And the dream people gradually away

When Yeats sings when you are old

But not in exchange for a dying face

When Liang Shanbo died that moment

Can only be placed in the fantasy of butterfly

And Xu Zhimo is under secular pressure

Just a puddle of blood on a human April day