At night, the fishing lights in the pavilion are divided, the lane is quiet, and the west wind is quiet. The river bridge is far away, the Yu Di blows down and the frost dances. Thin autumn clouds, moths to the fire, official sense again. I'm afraid that if I cross the Jiangyan River, peach blossoms will flood and the palace ditch will be tight in spring.
The new sentence wants to save the topic. If you smell fragrant coal, you will die by mistake. The West Garden has been lost, so Lin Ting moved wine and recommended tea in Songquan. Hand in hand, jade slave calls, green window spring is near. I want to set foot on the West Lake proudly and spend twenty-four times.