1 Shah Jahan ①, you would rather let the imperial power disappear, but hope to keep a teardrop of love ② forever. Time is merciless, it has no pity for the human heart, it laughs at the futile struggle of the soul because it refuses to forget. You, Shah Jahan, seduced it with beauty, captivated it, captivated it, and crowned the formless Death with an image that never fades. In the silent night, the whispers you confide in your lover's ear have been engraved on the white stone of eternal silence. Although the imperial power of the empire has been reduced to ashes and history has been obliterated, the white marble still sighs to the stars in the sky: "I remember!"

"I remember!"—and yet life forgot.Because life must go to the eternal call, she set off lightly, leaving all her memories in the image of lonely and desolate beauty. ① Shah Jahan: Emperor of the Mughal Empire in India. ② "A teardrop of love": refers to the Taj Mahal, the main representative of Islamic architecture in India. From 1632 to 1654, Shah Jahan spent 22 years building a mausoleum for his concubine Montaj in the suburbs of Agra, Uttar Pradesh.The tomb is made of white marble, the walls are inlaid with colorful gemstones, and the center is covered with a huge circular vault.Therefore, the poet uses "teardrops" to describe it.

2 I love, take a walk in my garden.Go through the passionate flowers that rush to your eyes, regardless of their attentiveness.Just for the sudden joy like marveling at the brilliance of the sunset, you pause for a moment, and then drift away. The gift of love is timid, it never speaks its name; it flits lightly through the gloom, shedding a tremor of joy along the way.Go after it and grab it, or lose it forever.Yet the gift of love that can be held tightly in the hand is but a delicate flower, or a flickering lamp. 3 In my orchard the branches are crowded with fruits; in the sun they are troubled by their fullness and their nectar.

Go proudly, my queen, into my orchard, and sit in the shade, and pluck the ripe fruit from the boughs, and let them lay as much of their sweet burden on your lips as possible. In my orchard, butterflies are dancing in the sun, the leaves are shaking gently, and the fruit is buzzing as it ripens. 4 She is as close to my heart as flowers and plants are to the earth; so sweet to me is she, like the weary limb of a child of sleep; my love for her is the flood of my whole life, like the rising river of autumn, soundless. The earth flows with all its might; my song and my love are one, like the murmuring ripples of a brook, singing with its waves and currents.

5 If I possess the sky and its stars, if I possess the world and its immeasurable riches, I still want more.However, as long as I have her, even if I have only one place in this world, I will be satisfied. 6 Poet, the spring is beautiful and luxurious, you should sing to praise those who pass by without lingering, those who laugh and run forward and never look back, those who bloom like flowers in unrestrained joy, fleeting and never regretting . Please don't sit down silently and count your past sorrows and joys, -- don't stop to pick up the fallen petals from overnight flowers; The implication of - don't try to fill the blankness of life, because music comes from the depth of that blankness.

7 I have very little left, and the rest have been carelessly squandered all through the carefree summer.Now, it's just enough to compose a short song for you to sing; just enough to weave a small wreath to gently wrap around your wrist; just enough to make an earring out of a small flower, like a round pink Pearl, a shy whisper, hangs in your ear; Just enough in the shade of the trees at dusk, In a little game, Gamble and lose. My little boat was crude and easily damaged, and was not fit to sail in stormy seas.But if you will step on it lightly, I will slowly paddle the oars and take you along the river bank; where the deep blue water ripples like sleep crumpled by dreams; The low-hanging branches cooed, casting a layer of melancholy on the midday shade.When the sunset is tired, I will pick a water lily with dewdrops and put it on your hair, and then bid you farewell.

8 My boat is full of people and full of goods, but how can I refuse you?You are alone with only a few bunches of rice.You are young, slender and slender; there is an erratic smile in the corner of your eyes, and your long black dress is like a cloud on a rainy day.Of course there is your place on board. Passengers will land one after another all the way back.Just stop at the bow of my boat for a while, who can keep you when the boat docks? Where are you going, and where will you store your rice?I will not ask you questions.But at dusk, when I lowered my sails and moored my boat, I would sit and wonder: where are you going, and where will you store your rice?

9 Woman, your basket is heavy, your limbs are weary.How far are you going?What profit are you running around for? The road is long, and the dust on the road is as hot as fire under the scorching sun. Behold, the lake is deep and full, and black as a crow's eye.The shore of the lake is sloping, and the green grass lays a soft carpet on it. Soak your tired feet in the water, and the noon wind here will comb your long hair; the pigeons coo and sing sleepy songs, and the green leaves whisper, telling the secrets hidden in the shade. What does it matter if time passes and the sun goes down?What does it matter if the path across the moor is lost in the twilight?

Don't be afraid, the fence with impatiens blooming in front is my home.I will take you there, make your bed, and light a lamp.I'll wake you up tomorrow morning when the bird is startled by the milkmaid. 10 What drives the bees—the followers of these invisible trails—from their hives?What message do their wildly flapping wings convey?How do they hear the music sleeping in the flower heart?How did they find the honey that sleeps shyly and silently in the greenhouse?