Quail day
Yuan Lu Ye gives color.
The decline of the world has moved, and the big songs are at a loss.
Thousands of people robbed the king of mountains and rivers, and the spring breeze of peaches and plums was another year.
Flowers are green, cold smoke is on the shelf, and wild flowers are flat and blue.
I don't know what the limit of human dream is. I touch the edge of wine.
Yuquanshan
Ming zengbai
Jumping beads splash jade, cold voice sprinkles radish.
Autumn shadow culvert flips snow practice, Guang Xiao falls into the Milky Way.
Old gurgling around the Lotus Hall, rippling too liquid waves to live here.
Wait until the West Lake is full of spring waves, and then listen to the tassel song.
Lv Gong Temple
Wenming Zhiming
Thunderstorms break cliffs and spring clouds open.
Cui Bi wants to grind the word "Lu Ye", and the stone bed will lie in Lu Gong.
In April, Cang Xue was bitterly cold, and Roshi's moss had not been eroded for thousands of years.
I can't live without fairies. Feng Gang blew down the sunset platform.