I got on my horse and rode away, drifting like a cut grass until the drum rolled, alas, calling my duty.
Li He's South Garden;
Xiao Yue carved an old sculpture and hung a jade bow as a curtain to see where the autumn wind cried every year.
Yuan Hongdao's The Story of Zhai Bi;
As a knife and pen official, burying old paper and flogging a miserable face, with a dead heart.
Tired of running cattle and horses, I knelt down and ashamed of my handmaiden, and the wind was red and frosty.
If the heart is like a cat catching mice, the body is like an ant, raising its eyes endlessly and lowering its head privately.
Nanshan green beans have no teeth.
Yang Wanli's "People who send wheelchairs to Germany";
Why do you still have a robe after more than ten years of painstaking copying? There is nothing to worry about, and there are more things to do.
And Shuo in the Book of Songs.
There is also "thinking" in Han Yuefu, "pulling out miscellaneous things and destroying them." Destroy them when the wind blows up their ashes. "
There are also "white-headed songs" and so on.