One: Yan Shu Stepping on the sand and walking on the blue sea without waves, there is a road in Yaotai. After thinking about it, we both flew away. At that time, I said goodbye to my beloved, and I knew where the mountains were and the rivers were far away. The fine mat gathers the dust, and the fragrant boudoir covers the fog. Who can attach the small characters on the red paper? The tall buildings look like dusk, and the leaves of the sycamore trees are covered with rustling rain.

Two: Niu Cong wrote the title Chaoyang Rock. The road to climb the rosette on tiptoe is not lost, the wind is good in the morning and the waves are low. The name of the cave is exclusive to Chaoyang, and there should be parasol trees waiting for the phoenix to rest there.

Three: Xue Neng's Autumn Inscription: Sitting alone in the southeast, I see the morning star, the white clouds are slightly transparent and clear. The monk is sitting on the phosphorus stone, and a sycamore leaf has fallen into the middle of the courtyard.

Four: Shao Ye's Han Palace Well. The sound of the windlass left the palace in silence, and Ban Ji looked at the golden well several times. The old sycamore tree has faded and its flowers are blooming, still resembling the beautiful figure of that time.

Five: Lu Guimeng Nojing There are many exposed wells in front of Zhu Pavilion, and beauties pass under the green parasol trees. The cold spring may not be like this, but there is nothing wrong with the silver bottle.

Six: Luo Yin listens to the pipa, the fragrant banquet and the wine, and thinks about the morning. Occasionally, I smell it in the dark of the phoenix tree. There is hatred in every piece of music, and the people in the whole building don’t know you.

Seven: One hundred poems from He Ning's palace. The sound of nature sings in the wind and the swallows return to the society. The lotus in Zhugong is fragrant and the moss is old and green. At night, frost falls on the sycamore leaves, and the royal robes enter the palaces at dawn.

Eight: Li Zhong's Two Poems for a Spring Boudoir: The dust is dim, and I am lazy to repair my face, and my peach blossoms are all red. The jade plug dream returns and the remaining candle is there, and the phoenix tree sings outside the window.

Nine: Two poems by Teng Qian's "Feng Guiyun" Yuyi can be seen by the railing of the golden well, and cold branches are lodged on the sycamore branches. Prince Wuling admired Wen Cai, and painted and embroidered clothes for beauties.

Ten: Lady Hua Rui's Palace Poems (the following forty-one poems by Wang Gui were written by the children of Liyuan) The willows lead to the ditch in the shade, and the parasol trees surround the vermilion tower. The Pavilion of King Teng in Jinling City is a shameless painting.

Eleven: Yao Yuehua's The Chu Concubine's Resentment The golden well is under the sycamore leaves, and the pulley is pulled across the windlass. When the beauty first wakes up, the sky is still dark, and her hands are brushing the silver vase with cold autumn water.

Twelve: Liu Yuan's Changmen's Resentment Raindrops fall on the phoenix trees in the long autumn night, and the sorrow and rain reach Zhaoyang. The tear stains will not be cut off by your kindness, but they will be wiped away thousands of times.

Thirteen: Zhao Xuzhou's play presents the sycamore tree with its leaves in full bloom, and its branches lowered after the rain. There is no need for crows and birds to report, as his family has its own phoenix perch.

Fourteen: Two Poems of Spring Thoughts by Zhang Yaoyao The Inoue sycamore tree is the concubine’s move, and the flowers are the highest at night. If the teacher does not plant seeds in the boudoir, he will fight to find out when the spring comes.

Fifteen: Xue Tao Farewell Li Langzhong The flowers fell on the phoenix tree and the phoenixes fell on the phoenix tree. It would be even more desolate to climb to the Qinling Mountains. Even though Anren had poems and poems, half of his poems were mixed with mourning for his death.

Sixteen: Shang Yan Sings on an Autumn Night The parasol trees sing in sorrow at night beside the rain, fluttering their clothes and the color of moss invades them. It's a waste of time to live a life without ties, and others will look for the mountains and rivers of southern Hunan.

Seventeen: Xiu Mu. The fine rhyme of the pine trees is chilling to the bones, and the shadows of nesting cranes cross the high wall. The roots are entwined on the ground, so the sycamore trees will not grow long.

Eighteen: Li Qiao's late scene is sad and Jian's two and three sons are sad in autumn, and Liangtai looks at the credit in the evening. The sycamore leaves are slightly lowered, and the mountain cinnamon is about to bloom. The air is directed toward the cold dew, and the light is drawn toward the sunset. Long song and white water song, green pond flowers in the sky.