"Xianyang City East Tower" by Xu Hun, a poet of the late Tang Dynasty
As soon as I go up to the high city, I feel sad for thousands of miles, and the willows are like Tingzhou.
The clouds in the stream are beginning to rise, the sun is sinking into the pavilion, and the mountain rain is about to come, and the wind is filling the building.
The green Qin Garden is under the birds at dusk, the cicadas are chirping and the leaves are yellow in the Han Palace in autumn.
Passengers should not ask about what happened in the past. The water from the Wei River comes from the east of my hometown.
"Bitter Cold in the Village" by Bai Juyi, a poet of the Tang Dynasty
In December of the eighth year, it snowed on the fifth day.
The bamboos and cypresses were all frozen to death, and the people there had no clothes.
Looking back at the village, 89 out of 10 households are poor.
The north wind is as sharp as a sword, and the cloth cannot cover the body.
Only the fire of wormwood and thorns is burning, and I sit at night waiting for the morning in sorrow.
I know that during the severe cold season, farmers are particularly hard-working.
On this day, the door of the thatched cottage is closed.
The brown fur covers the quilt, and there is still warmth when sitting and lying down.
I am spared the hardships of hunger and cold, and I have no farmland to work on.
I am ashamed to think of him, and ask myself who he is
"Ascend the High" by the ancient poet Du Fu
The wind is strong, the sky is high, the apes are screaming in mourning, and the white birds are white in the clear sand of Zhug. Fly back.
Boundless falling trees rustle, and the endless Yangtze River rolls by.
Wanli is always a guest in the sad autumn, and he has been sick for hundreds of years and only appears on the stage.
Hard and bitter, I hate the frost on my temples, and my new wine glass becomes turbid.
"Spring Thoughts" by Li Bai, a poet of the Tang Dynasty
The swallow grass is like blue silk, and the green branches of Qin mulberry are low.
When the king returns home, it is the time when the concubine has a broken heart.
If you don’t know the spring breeze, why should you enter the Luo curtain?
"Drunken Flower Yin" by Li Qingzhao, a poet of the Song Dynasty
The mist is thick and the clouds are sorrowful forever, and the auspicious brain disappears the golden beast. It’s the Double Ninth Festival and the Double Ninth Festival. Jade pillows and gauze kitchens make it cool in the middle of the night.
After dusk when I drink wine in Dongli, there is a faint fragrance filling my sleeves. There is no way to lose one's soul. The west wind blows behind the curtain, and people are thinner than yellow flowers.
"Listening to An Wanshan's Blow and Flute Song" by Li Ying, a poet of the Tang Dynasty.
Bamboos in Nanshan were cut into pieces to make bamboo flutes. This music originated from Qiuci.
It is said that the tunes of the Han Dynasty turn strange, and the barbarians in Liangzhou play them to me.
Neighbours who hear it sigh, and distant guests shed tears when they are homesick.
The world understands listening but not appreciating, and comes and goes in the wind.
The withered mulberry trees and the old cypresses are whistling in the cold, while the nine chicks are chirping and the phoenixes are chirping chaotically.
The roar of dragons and tigers roars suddenly, and the sound of thousands of springs coincides with autumn.
Suddenly it changed into a fishing sun, and the yellow clouds were dull and the sun was dark.
The change of tone is like hearing the willow spring, and the flowers in the forest illuminate the new scene.
On New Year's Eve, candles are lit in the high hall, and music is played with a glass of wine.
"Spring Day" by Zhu Xi, a poet of the Song Dynasty
The beautiful scenery of Surabaya is found in the beautiful sun, and the boundless scenery is new for a while.
Easy to recognize the east wind, colorful colors are always spring.
"The Great Wind and Rain on November 4th" by Lu You, a poet of the Southern Song Dynasty
Lying in a lonely village, I don't feel sorry for myself, but I still think about guarding the Luntai for the country.
I lie down at night listening to the wind and rain, and the iron horse glacier falls into my dream.
"Walking Alone by the River Looking for Flowers Part 5" by Du Fu, a poet of the Tang Dynasty
In front of the Huangshi Pagoda, the river is east, and the spring scenery is lazy and leaning on the breeze.
A cluster of peach blossoms blooms without an owner. Love the deep red and the light red?
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