Autumn poem Yang Xiuzhi sunshine before the window bamboo, dew wet after the garden Wei. Night flies help build bricks, and lamp moths fly around candles.
Looking at the moon for fifteen nights, I sent Du Langzhong to live in Wang Jian's atrium. Coody Leng was silent and osmanthus was wet. I don't know who Qiu Si will meet tonight.
On a rainy night, Bai Juyi was lonely in Yun Qi, and the autumn was thick, and the night was a little cold. But my clothes are wet and there is no sound.
Emei Mountain Moon White Emei Mountain Mid-Autumn Festival, shadow into Pingqiang water. In the evening, Qingxi went to the Three Gorges, but the four gentlemen did not see Yuzhou.
Yuan Haowen asked "Miscellaneous Poems of Mountain Dwellers" that the heron's shadow is quiet in autumn and the cicada's vocal cords are cool in the evening. There is a long pool of water, which broadens the sunset.
In the cold pond, it is easy to comb the water and sit in the cold pond to watch the autumn. The heart of the country is endless, and a wild goose crosses the South Tower.
Tu Mu, a mountain walker, is far away in Hanshan. Stop and sit in the maple forest late, and the frost leaves are red in February flowers.
On the Taihang Mountain, the west wind is dusk, the clouds are thin and autumn, and the birds are left alone. The temple is thousands of miles away in first frost, and the horseshoe is on the Taihang Mountain.
Bai Juyi in Mujiang River is covered by sunset, half river is rustling and half river is red. The loveliest thing is the ninth day of September. The bright pearl's bright crescent moon is shaped like a bow.
The month before the jump climbed high, but I still thought the chrysanthemum was not yellow. The autumn wind pays off, especially the Double Ninth Festival.
Gao Qi, an autumn willow, is hard to see how tired it is to hold a long strip. At this time, I was worried about killing Huan Sima, and the autumn wind was full of Hannan.
Chrysanthemums are planted in Huang Chao where the west wind blows, but butterflies in Leng Xiang are hard to come by. If I were Di Qing next year. Newspapers and peach blossoms bloom together.
Baishi Road in the west of Beijing, Wang Wei, in the mountains, the cold is pressing and the red leaves are sparse. There is no rain on the winding mountain road, the smoke is misty in the dense pine trees, and the water vapor is heavy, as if to flow, and then the clothes of passers-by.
Night parking near Fengqiao, Zhang Ji, cold night, Jiang Feng, fishing, fire, I am worried about not sleeping. In the lonely Hanshan Temple outside Suzhou, the bell that rang in the middle of the night reached the passenger ship.