First, Tang poetry: Zhang's "Moonlit Night on the Spring River"
Lian Haiping is in the spring tide, and the bright moon on the sea is born in the tide; I drift with the tide for thousands of miles, and there is no moon by the river; The river flows around Fangdian, and the moonlight shines on the flower forest like graupel. The river flows around Fangdian, and the moonlight shines on the flower forest like graupel. Frost flows in the air, you can't fly, but you can't see the white sand on the pavilion. There is no dust in the river, and there is a solitary moon wheel in the sky; Whoever sees the moon at the first sight by the river will shine at the starting point of the river; Life is endless from generation to generation, and Jiangyue is only similar year after year;
I don't know who Jiang Yue treats, but the Yangtze River sends water. White clouds have gone, and Qingfeng is at a loss; Who will go boating tonight? Where to miss the bright moon building; If you wander upstairs under the moon, you should leave someone to fill the mirror; Jade curtain can't be rolled up, but it is brushed back on the anvil; I don't know each other at this time. May China shine on you month by month; Hongyan flies too long, and ichthyosaurs dive into the water; Last night, the dream of idle pool fell, and the poor spring did not return;
In spring, the river flows away, and the pond falls to the west; The slanting moon hides the sea fog, and Jieshi Xiaoxiang Road is infinite; I don't know how many people return home every month, and the moon is full of rivers and trees.
Second, Song Ci: Wu Wenying's Preface to Birds Singing.
Residual cold deceives sick wine, covering up Shen Xiang embroiders households. Yan came late and flew into Xicheng, as if spring came late. Painting boat, clear sky, clear smoke, Ran Ran martial arts tree. Thinking about love, drifting with the wind, turned into a faint whisper. Ten years in the West Lake, willows tied to horses, and the dust is soft and foggy. Gradually return to red, recruit into Xianxi, and send you Sue in secret. Leaning against the silver screen, the spring scenery is wide and the dream is narrow, the red and wet are broken, and the singing is golden. When the bank is empty, the gulls will always be returned at sunset.
Orchids are ancient, Du Ruo is still alive, and the water town is still a tourist attraction. Later, I didn't visit, and the Sixth Bridge didn't believe me. I went to the Flower Committee and was buried in jade. After several storms. Long wave envy, shame on distant mountains, fishing lights reflecting the river, remembering time and short peach root crossing. Brothel seems to be a poem on the verge of defeat, with tears bleak and dusty. Looking at the dangerous pavilion, grass is all over the world, and sighing temples invade half bamboo.
Dark spot check: I vomit when I leave the mark, I am still dyed, I am fascinated by the phoenix, and I have no intention to dance. Diligent to write, books full of hate, blue clouds and heavy geese, falling in love, bouncing into the column of mourning for Zheng. Sad, thousands of miles south of the Yangtze River, complaining songs, is there a broken soul?