The wind is fast and high, the ape cries sadly, and the birds are circling in the white sand.
The endless trees are rustling leaves, and the Yangtze River is rolling unpredictably.
Li in the sad autumn scenery, a wanderer all the year round, lives alone on the high platform in today's illness.
After all the hardships and hatred, the white hair is full, and the wine glasses are damaged.
This poem was written in the autumn of 767 in Dali, Tang Daizong.
Denglou
Flowers are close to tall buildings and far away from my hometown. I am very sad. There are disasters everywhere in this country, so I climbed up to see them.
The spring scenery of Jinjiang flooded in, and the clouds on the mountain, ancient, varied and changeable.
The imperial court, like the North Star, will not change in the end, and the Western Hills of Kohl will not invade Tibet.
However, I felt sorry for the sorrow of a long-lost emperor at dusk and talked with Fu Liang at sunset.
This poem was written by the author when he returned to Chengdu from Langzhong in the spring of 764, the second year of Dai Zong Guangde.