Second, the difference is unresolved, so why bother.
Third, remember that year, the screen met.
Fourth, if you don't study for a day, you won't have good ideas.
Five, not last year, tears wet the sleeves of the spring shirt.
Six, the east wind sprinkled with rain and dew, will enter the human spring.
79 romantic door, looking back is the end of the world.
Eight, a few degrees of wind and rain, rushing to the old spring bird.
Last year, you led troops to Yuezhi, and there was no full division in the city.
Ten, people are like the bright moon, and the wrist is frozen with frost and snow.
Xi。 The mist soaked the fragrant grass, and a spring pigeon was calling in a hidden place.
Twelve, reflecting the sky, flying empty for rain.
Thirteen, the spring breeze urges guests to get drunk, and Jiangyue opens to people.
Fourteen, Xiao Jian is red and wet, and Jinguan City is heavy.
15. When I asked your students under a pine tree, "My teacher," he replied, "went to pick herbs."
I'm sixteen years old, and now the cold of the moon and night passes through the pine trees. My ears are pure because of the sound of wind and water.
17. There are strong men in Chubang and they have been swept away.
Eighteen, Shuiyue is as calm as your faith, and the fish and dragons chant with you.
Nineteen, the full moon is in the bow shadow, and even the stars become swords.
Twenty, the full moon flies to the mirror to fold the sword.
2 1 time, because there is no famous battle in history that sent all the soldiers back.
Twenty-two, the day is short, and a hundred years of suffering is easy to fill.
Twenty-three, flowers and the moon are blurred, and there is no desire to look through the window.
24. I drink a pot of wine from the flowers alone. No one is with me.
25. From now on, I will put my official hat aside and find the eternal road is the only happiness.
Twenty-six or thirty years of study, no ruler at the waist.
Twenty-seven, when the resentment will stop, the heart is bitter.
Twenty-eight A bright moon hung high in the capital, and ten thousand washing mallets rang.
Twenty-nine years old, a cold wind is quietly coming from under my mat, and the bare walls of the city turn pale with the autumn moon.
Thirty, the wind is clear and the moon is full, and the letter is a good season.
Thirty-one, Madang Mountain goes down the road, and the wild clouds are still empty.
Thirty-two, blame the rain and blind wind, can't stay on the river.
Thirty-three, there are warblers at the bottom of the flowers, and the flowers are half-hooked.
34. Rain hates clouds, and Jiangnan is still called a beauty.
Thirty-five, cattle and sheep from the village lane, childlike innocence.
Thirty-six, Yu Yan languished for three years, who will discuss orchestral music?
Thirty-seven, the Tao is good weather, and the rain washes the wind.
Thirty-eight, the year is coming, the stream is overcast, and the wind and rain are even grass.
Thirty-nine, the moon is full, the west building has been a long time, and the return date is undecided.
Forty, in late autumn, the milky way is quiet and the courtyard is deep in the moon.
Forty-one, a fishing boat with two children stopped on board.
Forty-two, you can laugh several times in life, and you must be drunk when you fight.
Forty-three, all countries are drunk and peaceful, and the moon is clear.
44. Nine doors of heaven reveal the palace and its courtyard, and the coat of many countries bows to the crown of beads.
Forty-five, don't miss the old country for the old friend, try new tea with new fire.
46. The children come back early from school. They are busy flying kites in the east wind.
Forty-seven, but the rest of the words are hard to find, and the wind and thunder travel far.
Forty-eight, the tree is pressed early, the crow does not fly far, and the window is cold and wet.
Forty-nine, friends like painting must be light, mountains like paper do not like peace.
50. Today, only Xijiangyue took photos of people in the Wu Palace.
Fifty-one, only the battlefield where they died for their country, why did they still wear boots when they died?
Fifty-two, late at night, Jiang Yue found out that Hui, who had gone out, and Song Yue, the water delivery man, had returned.
53. I learned to watch the morning glory in the mountains calmly and eat sunflower seeds with dew under the pine trees.
Fifty-four, I am willing to serve my country with this length. Why should I be born in Yumenguan?
Fifty-five, an old friend resigned from the West Yellow Crane Tower, and fireworks went down to Yangzhou in March.
Fifty-six, the spring shirt is still small, and the needle and thread have wet the West Lake.
Fifty-seven, the last year the door is the most incompetent, Xiao Xiaohua made a golden bow.
Fifty-eight, the dream is broken for forty years, and the old willow in Shenyuan does not blow cotton.
Fifty-nine, at this time, idleness is not * * *, and the spring is cold in front of the window.
Sixty, the rain stays overnight, and all troubles are like grass rain.
Sixty-one, the painting building flew to Nanpu Cloud, and the bead curtain rolled up the yellow rain in the western hills.
Sixty-two, bright as a flying mirror, smoke extinguished.
Sixty-three, Qin Mingyue Han Guan, Long March people did not return.
Sixty-four, empty and lonely, you miss home, don't go to Jiuhua.
Sixty-five, green leaves and thick clouds, full of ponds and pavilions.
Sixty-six, the trees grow dark in summer, and the balcony reflects the pond.
Sixty-seven, Shu once heard of Zigui birds, and Xuancheng also saw azaleas.
Sixty-eight, except for the spring breeze and green sand, it's like watching you cross the river.
Sixty-nine, a whip in the south, a few crossings, all by singing eyebrows.
Seventy, solitary smoke, layers of waves Ryutsuki, palace night lead water collection.
Seventy-one, oblique silver enamel, high lotus torch, late at night unbearable breeze.
Seventy-two, the front of the building is black and blue, with a touch of willow and an inch of tenderness.
Seventy-three, the wind is young and old, the rain is fat and the plums are beautiful in the afternoon.
Seventy-four, disturbing the dust of horseshoe cars, being ruthless by years, fading away from youth.
Seventy-five, the good wind is like a rain, like a curtain, and the scars are added when you see the flowers on the shore.
Seventy-six, look at the autumn grass in Pengmen, the lane is broken every year, the window is drizzling, and the night is independent.
Seventy-seven, the flowers have withered, spring is near, and the Mid-Autumn Festival is gone. When will people come?
Seventy-eight, who let China, Lu Chen one hundred years, green carpet is not also? Disappointed with the morning star and the waning moon, Zhou Bei heroes.
Seventy-nine, with Zhang Xian on the lake, I heard that it was raining on Phoenix Mountain, and the water was clear and the sunset was bright.