There is a white horse with a gold bridle to the East of the Liao Sea.Bed-curtains of open-work silk—embroidered quilt—I sleep with the Spring wind.The setting moon drops level to the balcony, it spies upon me. The candle is burnt out.A blown flower drifts in through the inner door—it mocks at the empty bed.
There is a white horse with a gold bridle to the East of the Liao Sea.Bed-curtains of open-work silk—embroidered quilt—I sleep with the Spring wind.The setting moon drops level to the balcony, it spies upon me. The candle is burnt out.A blown flower drifts in through the inner door—it mocks at the empty bed.
There is a white horse with a gold bridle to the East of the Liao Sea.Bed-curtains of open-work silk—embroidered quilt—I sleep with the Spring wind.The setting moon drops level to the balcony, it spies upon me. The candle is burnt out.A blown flower drifts in through the inner door—it mocks at the empty bed.
There is a white horse with a gold bridle to the East of the Liao Sea.
Bed-curtains of open-work silk—embroidered quilt—I sleep with the Spring wind.
The setting moon drops level to the balcony, it spies upon me. The candle is burnt out.
A blown flower drifts in through the inner door—it mocks at the empty bed.