Xu Hun rose from the west wing in the morning to pity the depths of shearing waves, and picked a piece of Cui Ninghong. The bright moon is not scattered downstairs, and the three paths are worried about the Tianhe River.
Zhao Wei's miscellaneous songs, yesterday's salt, sleepy, listening to the morning chickens in the border town to ride, worrying about sleeping to cover the night. Put on your clothes and peep at the moon, wipe your tears and wait for the cock to crow. Don't be angry for years, just like crying at night. You should hate yourself if you succeed, and you will be sent to western Liaoning sooner or later.
In the early morning of Yu Shinan, the morning light shines on all the tiles, and the evening mist closes on the double eaves. Jade flowers are candles at midnight, and gold pots are sent to Xiao. The sun shines in the green temple, and summer is born in the building. Heavy doors should lead the way, and books should lead princes.
From the morning in beginning of spring, it suddenly began to snow in Zhang Jiuling and Lin Tingxue, and Hua Yao was everywhere. This year's welcome began, and last night was accompanied by spring return. Bamboo in front of the window and plum in the yard. In the eastern suburbs, you should see the Five Gods.