Untitled (a Yunyang City)
The white road lingers in the dusk, hissing away the seven fragrant cars.
Who laughs at the spring breeze? One hundred thousand houses in Yangcheng are wasted.
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Hou, a minor celebrity living in Liu Xiaojiang.
The waist is too thin to dance, and the eyebrows are sad.
Gold is like a house, why not make it a heavy building?
Two songs without titles
The stars were bright last night, but there was a cool breeze at midnight. Our banquet is on the side of Hualou Temple and the east of the county.
Without Cai Feng's wings, it is impossible to be Qi Fei in fly with me; The heart is like a soul, and the feelings are the same.
Guessing and intrigue, wine warms the heart; This group of people came to the bet of drinking friends, and a win-lose red in candlelight.
Until the drums sounded, alas, calling me to perform my duties, like a lantern broken canopy.
I often hear people talk about elvhua, but I always feel that she is in that distant world.
But after attending the feast like Xiaoshi, I didn't expect to peek at the palace flowers.
Four songs without titles
You said the meeting was empty talk, after we didn't see its trace; Wake up in the oblique moonlight upstairs and listen to Xiao Zhong Chuming.
The dream in the wound is far from being called; When I woke up, I began to write a letter.
The layering of residual jade is hazy; Musk smoked through the tulle, soft.
But what I can't reach is the magic mountain. You are over there, beyond Wanfeng.
The wind in the east wind, the rain in the wind, the rain in the wind, the sound of light thunder came from the other side outside the lotus pond.
There is also a locked golden toad incense burner. Cigarettes are elegantly wrapped, like pulleys in a jade pot, and the traction rope is pumped into the well water.
Wang Wei dreamed that she was a beautiful young girl. Wang Wei had a pillow dream and wrote a poem.
Never mind the flowers, even this bright flame of love, is it only ashes? .
It's late spring, and the night is temporarily dry.
The sound of the building will be timid and the curtain will be difficult to dry.
I am ashamed to be in the swallow, and I am ashamed to be in the mirror.
Back to the small pond, Huaxing sent a treasure saddle.
Where is mourning Zheng? Sakura Lane hangs on the bank of Yangpan.
Will the old woman in the master get married? It will be March and a half during the day.
Princess Liyang is fourteen years old, and Tomb-Sweeping Day looks at the same wall.
When Fang Zhan turned to the fifth watch, Liang Yanzi heard a sigh.
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According to Liang Chu, sentient beings are famous for their water.
Skirts are smaller than hibiscus and hair is lighter than jade.
The brocade book is solemn, and the eyebrows are fine.
Don't play chess nearby, the center is the most uneven.
Two songs without titles
The eight-year-old girl likes to look in the mirror secretly and has been able to raise her eyebrows.
At the age of ten, I went for an outing and imagined the clothes that Lotus made for myself.
I began to learn to play the guzheng at the age of twelve, and the silver nail on my finger has never been pulled out.
At the age of fourteen, she avoided seeing men, even the closest ones. At this time, she may be thinking about when to get married.
At the age of fifteen, she was crying in the spring breeze on the swing, fearing the disappearance of spring.
You tirelessly repay others, and you are invited in autumn and summer.
Zhu Bi turned to look down, and the water was clear and lonely.
The exposed flowers are always wet, and the wind and butterflies are strong and charming.
If you join hands here, you are not talking to yourself.
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The purple fairy is a treasure lamp, and the cloud slurry has not been drunk into ice.
How to create a bright night in a snowy month, especially on the twelfth floor of Yaotai.
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It was a long time ago that I met her, but since we separated, the time has become longer, the east wind is blowing, and a hundred flowers are blooming.
Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.
In the morning, she saw her hair cloud changing in the mirror, but she bravely faced the cold of the moonlight with her evening song.
There are not many roads to Pengshan. Oh, Bluebird, listen! -Give me what she said! .
Two songs without titles
Lingluo of Pteris, thin; Never put off till tomorrow what you can, I chased it late into the night.
It's too late to cover up the encounter with a fan; But you drove by, speechless.
Once lonely and sleepless, I missed candles; But I haven't heard from you until the pomegranate blossoms.
Maybe you are on the bank of weeping willows, stopping to chase; How can you wait until it is sent to the southwest wind?
There are many curtains in your carefree house, where ecstasy will last all night.
The Wushan goddess of Chu was originally a dream; Qingxi is the residence of my sister-in-law, and there is no lang here.
I am a weak lingzhi, biased by storms; I'm Lingfang, but I don't have any fragrant leaves.
Although fully aware of lovesickness, there is no good health; I am infatuated with it to the end and fall in love for life.
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Wan Li is in turmoil like a boat, and it is even more embarrassing to recall his early years.
There is no yuan in Bijiang River, and there is little left in Huanghesha.
The murder case of Yide was finally reported to the Lord, autumn in Atong Gaoyi Town.
Life is meaningless, and nostalgia grows old.
Untitled
It was a long time ago that I met her, but since we separated, the time has become longer, the east wind is blowing, and a hundred flowers are blooming.
Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.
In the morning, she saw her hair cloud changing in the mirror, but she bravely faced the cold of the moonlight with her evening song.
Not far from her charming mountain, oh, bluebird, listen! -Give me what she said! .
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You said you would come, but you didn't come. You left me no trace except the moonlight on your tower at five o'clock.
I cried for your leaving forever. I still can't wake up. I tried to read your hasty notes, but I found the ink was too weak.
The blue candle burns its jade feather lamp, and the musk deer embroiders the hibiscus slightly.
But what I can't reach is the magic mountain. You are over there, beyond Wanfeng.
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Fog and rain are blowing from the east, and the wheels make a faint thunder on the other side of Furong Pool.
The golden toad locked and burned incense, and the jade tiger told the story of beating water on the rope.
Once, a great lady favored a poor young man behind a screen, and a fairy queen brought a bride's mat to make a prince feel comfortable and then disappeared.
Never mind the flowers, even this bright flame of love, is it only ashes?
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How thin the phoenix-tailed radish is, lining your green canopy and closing it for the night.
Will your shy face stare at a moon-shaped fan, and will your voice drown out the rattle of my carriage? .
The place where your golden lamp goes out is very quiet. How far can a pomegranate flower whisper? .
I will tie my horse to a willow tree by the river, where will I stay in the southwest?
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There are many curtains in your carefree house, where ecstasy will last all night.
If angels don't bring their lovers into the room, what life will they have except dreams? .
Storms are destroying nut horns. Who is more fragrant than laurel leaves in the moonlight?
I know this love will not have any result, but it can comfort my soul! .
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The wind and rain in Wan Li are like a boat, and it is even more ridiculous to recall the early years.
There is no yuan in Bijiang River, and there is little left in Huanghesha.
Righteousness and virtue will eventually be reported to the Lord, and Atong Gaoyi will be in autumn.
Life is too long and meaningless. Nostalgia makes us old.
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Mourning Zheng follows the urgent management, and Sakura Chung Lane hangs on Yang 'an.
The master's old woman will marry but not sell, and it will only be three and a half months during the day.
Princess Liyang is fourteen years old, and Tomb-Sweeping Day looks at the same wall.
When Fang Zhan returned to Class 5, Yan Zi heard a sigh between the beams.
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The stars last night and the wind last night are in the west of the studio and the east of the cinnamon room.
Although my body doesn't have bright wings like a phoenix, I can feel the harmonious heartbeat of the sacred unicorn.
Through the wine of spring, when it warms me, I will remind you how to bet. There, one after another, we roll dice under the crimson lamp.
All right, listen to the drums, go to the official, and I'll ride away like a cut grass.
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People with ideas are tirelessly rewarded and invited in autumn and summer. Bamboo trees turn to despair, and the pool is quiet and lonely.
Flowers are always wet, and the wind and butterflies are beautiful. If we join hands here, we can't talk to ourselves.