The wind blows through the bamboos in the deep night, and the autumn rhyme is heard. Thousands of leaves and thousands of sounds are filled with hatred.

The autumn wind is bleak, the weather is cool, and the grass and trees are shaking and turning to frost.

The autumn light of silver candles paints the screen coldly, and the small light fan flutters at the flowing fireflies.

Why should I cut off the candles from the west window and talk about the rainy night in Bashan?

Stop the car and sit in the maple forest at night, the frost leaves are as red as the February flowers.

The old green is in different directions, the first red has overlapped, the atrium has just been swept, and there are three or two leaves around the tree.

The autumn wind is blowing, and the waves in the Dongting are under the wooden leaves.

Going out is a sigh of relief, and I see the leaves flying by the lake again.

The flowers are floating and the water is flowing, a kind of lovesickness and two idle worries. There is no way to eliminate this feeling, so I lower my brows, but it is in my heart.

There are no fallen leaves in Fengding Xiaoxuan, and caterpillars are relatively spinning autumn silk.

The autumn wind blows and white clouds fly, and the grass and trees turn yellow and the wild geese return south.

Falling red is not a heartless thing, it turns into spring mud to protect the flowers.

The autumn wind blows on the Weishui River, and the fallen leaves cover Chang'an.

Since ancient times, autumn has been a sad and lonely time. I say that autumn is better than spring.

The endless falling trees rustle and the endless Yangtze River rolls by.

The peach and plum blossoms bloom in the spring breeze, and the sycamore leaves fall in the autumn rain.

When the west wind sets and the wind blows, people and green mountains become thinner.