2. In the glass of life, everything is empty. Three or five heroes in ancient times. Where is the rain and the wind? Qin Gong in the Han Temple.
3. The bright moon surprises the magpies, and the breeze sings cicadas in the middle of the night. The cool night breeze seemed to spread to the distant cicada. In the aroma of rice flowers, people talk about the harvest of the year, the ear of a wave of frogs, as if in a good harvest years. In the old days, Maodian was near the forest, and the road turned to the stream bridge.
4. The rise and fall of the ages are endless, and the Yangtze River is endless.
5. You can't hide the green hills. After all, they flow eastward.
6. When you are drunk, you will see the sword and dream of blowing horns. Eight hundred miles of moxibustion, fifty strings of sound outside the Great Wall. This is a parade on the battlefield in autumn. The horse ran like a deluma, and the bow and arrow flew like a thunder. Despite the king's world affairs, he won a name before his death. Poor hair has become a white - haired man!
7. The flowers are even today, so why is the willow frowning? The east wind blows rain and is finer than dust. Laughing at yourself is like lewdness, but now you are more pregnant with trees. Idle sorrow and hate are new.
8. Throughout the ages, heroes are nowhere to be found, and Sun Zhongmou is located. The dance floor of the year is still in, but the heroes have long gone by the passage of time.
9, floating days send infinite trees, and bring rain clouds to bury half the mountains.
1. Remember to burn this Ye Xiang together. People are in the cloister and the moon is in the cloister. Now I'm dim alone, thinking about walking and sitting.
11. Back in those days, Jin Ge was an iron horse and swallowed Wan Li like a tiger.
12. The eaves of the villages are low and small, and the streams are covered with green grass. The Wu place that is drunk is drunk, sounds gentle and beautiful, whose home is the old man with white hair? The eldest son is weeding the bean field in the east of the stream, and the second son is busy knitting the coop. I like children's scoundrels best, and I lie on the head of the stream and peel the lotus.
13. Teenagers don't know the taste of sorrow and fall in love with the stairs. Fall in love with the floor, and worry about adding new words. Now I know what it's like to worry, and I want to talk about it. I want to say that I still have a rest, but I say that it is cool and autumn.