Year: Tang Author: Han Yu
Feather is a hundred miles away, and it is clear that the city gate is buried. After the ministers got mixed up,
Palace officials kept coming. It is the seventh day of the new autumn, and the golden god degasses according to the festival.
The breeze is fluttering, the rain is raining, and the standard is swaying. Cross the beam, squat down and swallow,
So he went to the mysterious palace. Crying, the secluded ridge is closed during the day.
The emperor's filial piety is far-reaching, and there is no chance of winning gifts. Set up official guards to lock prostitutes,
Support the morning and evening like a peaceful home. I heard that Shinto is still pure, and three generations of old books are preserved.
Don't tamper with the temple sacrifices in the tomb. You don't know what to say until you know your job.
Bai Juyi parasitic clothing micro-objects, titles.
The light-colored shirt is as light as fog, and the spun yarn is as thin as clouds.
Don't be too frivolous, but you know, I'm afraid Tongzhou will kill you.
Unexpectedly, the silhouette of the lonely lamp at night is Xiao, and the child is like a dumpling, and the child is soaring.
You suddenly have frosty temples, skirts in spring and eyebrows in autumn.
In 32 years, heavy rain poured down, the sound of rain disappeared, and thoughts flooded.
I miss my loving mother's hard half life, kneel down to nurse the lamb and repay the present.