The wind and rain blew through the Manting Pavilion all night, as if it were washing away the worldly dust with tourists.
The turbulent wind disturbed the hibiscus water, and the dense rain slanted into the Xili wall. The mountains and trees cover thousands of miles of sight, and the river flows like nine ileum.
The pen fell in the storm, and the poem became the weeping ghosts and gods.
The rain is drenched in the sun, the wildfire is burning, and the ghosts are guarding the place.
The wind blows in the sand in Xiaoxiangpu, and the honest people shed tears like rain in autumn. During the day, the mind is in heaven, and by looking at it, one can understand the Lord. A strong man is angry and heroic. Ande relied on the sword to cross the sea and cut down the long whale.
The red leaves are rustling in the evening, and there is a ladle of wine in the pavilion. The remaining clouds return to Taihua, and the sparse rain passes through the middle section.