"Mrs. Xiang" double voice Aruwei: It urges soaring and morning riding. Fortunately, Di Zi and Kong Gai came to visit Yun Qi. The misty autumn wind, the leaves in the cave, the moment of expectation. There are nine doubts about the spirit and nine doubts about the empty mountain. Fold the qiongzhi, grow pale at first, and drink the horse salt pond.
Tao An's Autumn Wind Poems Send the Sound of the Beam: The cool wind blows away the wild, sending Bin Hong away. When the rustling came from the northwest, the vegetation suddenly turned yellow. At the expense of vegetation, cold enters the guests' clothes. The morning window is dim, and the night hall is illuminated by candlelight. At this vegetarian feast, people are homesick. If you aid the piano, you will return it, and the bitter rain chrysanthemum will smell sweet. Looking forward to sweeping away the shadows and seeing the sun of the earth. Ming should blow his feathers and fly high in the sky.
Ai Qing's hope: A sailor said that what he likes best is what is aroused by anchoring. That white spray ... a sailor said that what pleased him most was the sound of the chain when the anchor broke down ... one was looking forward to starting and the other was looking forward to arriving.
Xi Murong's Hope: In fact, I was only looking forward to that moment. I never asked you to give it to me, your whole life. If I can meet you on the hillside full of gardenias. If you can love deeply once and then leave, then a long life is just a short moment when you look back.
Yuan Quhua's biography of Dongpo: the leading girl vomited half. Jiangnan will grow old. Idle windows will be full of worries. Evening mourning is more bitter. Hoping to break through is better than Su Chi. Know about riding and where to go today. The back wall of the residual lamp is drums at night. The oblique wind blows drizzle.
Jiao Ran's "Sending Liu to the Judicial Leap": Singing the night horn and driving the horse back to the city. After the rain, the cold current is urgent, and the new moon in Qiu Lai is high. Looking at the sea from three mountains, I want to watch the waves in August. A few days on Xiling Road, you should be grateful to Facao.
Dai Fugu's Days of Archie: Living in poverty for several years, raising a son is like planting a grain. One-inch seedlings in hand, imagine the harvest in autumn is ripe. My son is blessed with rich bones. Juanjuan was in her arms from one year old to Sunday. May you grow up without disaster. Ten-year-old children are smart and open, and twenty fleas are full of energy. With a flat chest of 30,000 volumes and a five-color pen, Xun Wenchang will make you learn Confucianism. Otherwise, learn from Sun Wu and be outnumbered. Taking the Central Plains as the country, the northern part of Xuanming was established. He has made great achievements in the past, but my head has turned white. Guanghua shines on the old eyes, and the purpose is indispensable. A son must be pure, filial and upright. I expect a wish every day. Don't be ignorant of children. There is still news about prenatal education, and it is useless to say it.
"Sai" Yuan Anonymous: When I love him, I love the newborn moon. When I like him, I like plum blossoms. When I miss him, I say a few words about Xijiangyue. When I look forward to him, I look forward to the moon. At first, I didn't want to say goodbye Today, I want to catch the bright moon like underwater.
Janice's Three Poems of Reusing Rural Rhyme Like Yanqing: Park Shu-nan and Ye Lian, the Buddha benefits the Buddha before. The mouth is full of ten places, and the eyes are looking up at the sky. Where the mud is smeared, the head is hidden, and the top of the tree is shelled. Every body is different, but every body is the same.
Du Mu's "Old Tour": a poem of peony, which has been yearning for a long time. Looking back at the distance, the whole shirt is too late. Re-seek the dream of spring, laugh at the shallow flowers. The mayor lives in a mausoleum, but who knows Ferrand?
Bai Juyi's Farewell to Ancient Grass: The vast grass crosses the plain and comes and goes with the four seasons. Wildfire can't burn it out, but the spring breeze can revive it. Weeds and wild flowers are all over the ancient road, and the end of the grass in the sun is your journey. I once again sent my bosom friend, and the thick grass represented my deep affection.
Meng Jiao's Ode to a Wanderer: The thread in the hands of a loving mother makes clothes for her wayward son. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. Who can say that a filial child like the weak can repay his mother's love like the sunshine in spring?