| 1 | He is an old man with gray temples. | |
| 2 | Wine residual core, fragrance from far, cry to God, white cream bin, only smiles I fancy. | |
| 3 | And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown ; A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully. | |
| 4 | The three trees stand so tenderly, breeze blowing by their sideboards gently, birds resting quietly on their shoulders. | |
| 5 | Her face is wrinkled, her hair becomes silver white, and some of her teeth become movable. |