风猛烈地对着窗吹刮。
寒风穿过枯枝，有时把发脏的藏红花吹刮跑了。
The wind whistled through the twigs and fretted the occasional, dirty-looking crocuses.
原野悲哀地说：“主人，我无法保存这些花，因为狂风拼命的吹刮，烈阳炙烤着我的胸膛，这些花忍不住原野的气候，它们都零落凋萎了。”
Oh, Master, I cannot keep the flowers, for the winds sweep fiercely, and the sun beats upon my breast, and they wither up and fly away.
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