文宗大和八年,骆家的园子里,一位青年诗人孤独地站着。竹林幽深,经一场雨水洗刷后,焕然一新,纤尘不染,空气中夹杂着泥土的芳香。诗人站在亭子里,倚着栏杆,低头凝望着澄净的湖水,水中亭台轩榭的倒影清幽空旷,不禁又勾起了心底的往事:想起了对自己有知遇之恩的表叔崔戎已经病故,想起了与表兄弟崔雍、崔衮一起读书吟诗的美好岁月,如今却要天各一方,相隔万里,一种孤独之感不禁涌上心头。时值深秋了,天边的乌云也都恋恋不舍地紧挨在一起,久久不愿散去,酝酿着雨意。凉意袭人,连霜都迟到了,那满池枯萎的荷叶在寒风中摇曳着。夜已深,就留着枯 Wenzong Dai and eight years, Locke garden, a young poet stood alone. Deep bamboo forest, washed by a rain, a new look, fiber-free, the air mixed with the fragrance of the soil. Poet stood in the pavilion, leaning against the railing, looking down at the clear lake, pavilion Xuan Pavilion reflection in the water clear and spacious, can not help but arouse the heart of the past: I remembered for their own know the grace of the cousin Cui Rong Already dead, I remembered the wonderful years of studying poetry with cousins ​​Cui Yong and Cui Cui, but today I have to be one of them, separated by thousands of miles. A sense of loneliness can not help but get over my heart. The time is late autumn, the dark clouds on the horizon are reluctantly close together, for a long time do not want to disperse, brewing rain. Cool rage, even the frost are late, and that pool full of withered lotus leaf in the cold swaying. The night is deep, keep it dry