Last night, the west wind withered the green trees, went up to the tall building alone and looked at the horizon; You have to send colorful stationery and rulers to know where the mountains are long and where the water is wide.
Red leaves and yellow flowers are in late autumn, and thousands of miles miss travelers. Where can I send a book when the clouds are scattered and there is no letter?
Tears are endless, so I spin ink on the inkstone. I can't write gradually, because I am deeply in this situation, and the red note is colorless.
Ten years of life and death, nothing to think about, I will never forget my lonely grave, nowhere sad.
Even if we don't know each other, our faces are dusty and our temples are frosty.
In the evening, I suddenly dreamed of going home. The window of Xiao Xuan was dressing and taking care of each other, with only a thousand tears.
It is expected that the heartbroken place will be broken every year, and the moonlit night will be short and rambling.
These are my favorite songs.
In addition:
{Nalan's}
Who reads the west wind alone, rustling yellow leaves and closing windows, nostalgic for the sunset.
It was unusual at that time to get drunk in spring and gamble on books and pour tea.
I am a melancholy guest in the world. I know what you are crying about. I recall my life with a heartbreaking voice.
The cloister is an inch of acacia land, lonely. It has been ten years since the moon was covered with flowers.
The fickle feelings turned into sadness and fatigue, and the twists and turns were broken.
other
Alone in the west wing, the moon is like a hook. Lonely phoenix tree deep courtyard locks clear autumn.
Cutting is still messy, which is parting from sorrow. It's not just the general taste.
The rain outside the curtain is gurgling, and the spring is fading. Allred-rochow is too cold to stand. I don't know if I am a dream guest, but I am insatiable in one day.
Don't lean against the fence alone, it is infinite, and it is easier to see when you are away. Running water is gone, and spring is gone.
The fog is thick and the clouds are light, and it will always be sad. The brain sells golden beasts. Double Ninth Festival, lying in bed, in the middle of the night, the cold on my body has just been soaked.
Dongli drinks until dusk, and faint chrysanthemum fragrance overflows his sleeves. Don't say clear autumn is not a person, the west wind rolls the flag and beads curtain, and the person in the curtain is thinner than that Huang Ju.
There are many Nalan's Yi 'an's and so on, all of which are very good.