一把琵琶,一炉香烟,任古韵清音在屋中流淌,萦绕心间。月光滑过琴弦,斜风穿透单衣,微雨敲打着夜色,化成一个个跳动的音符,滴进春江水,柔滑着从耳边拂过。拟花为裳,掬水为佩,泛兰舟破去水,手提一盏彩鸾灯,越过大宋的烟笼云罩,穿过大唐的粉墙黛瓦,那扶提垂柳,那船舸笙歌,是否梦里江南? A pipa, a furnace of cigarettes, Ren Gu Yun voice flowing in the house, haunting heart. Moonlight over strings, oblique wind through uniforms, light rain beat the night, into a beating notes, drops into the spring water, silky brush from the ear. To spend for the clothes, water for the Pei, Pan Lanzhou broke the water, hand-painted a lamp, across the big cloud of tobacco cage, through the dachan dachan, that help mention weeping willow, Shengge, whether the dream of Jiangnan?