The foot of my bed is shining so brightly. Is there frost already?
I looked up at the moon and looked down, feeling nostalgic.
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The bright moonlight sprinkled on enough paper, as if the ground was frosted. I couldn't help looking up at the bright moon in the sky outside the window that day, and I couldn't help but bow my head and think of my hometown in the distance.
The author of Peach Blossom in Dalin Temple is Bai Juyi, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of ancient poetry is as follows:
In the world of April, the flowers have withered, and the peach blossoms in the ancient temples have just bloomed.
I want to find a place where my life is dying, but I don't know that it has been moved here.
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In April, it is spring that returns to the earth, and when the wheat straw falls, the peach blossoms in the ancient temple in the mountains are just in full bloom. I often feel sad for the passing of spring, because there is nowhere to find it. When I met the spring scenery again, I was overjoyed and suddenly realized: I didn't expect spring to be in this deep mountain temple.
The author of Looking at Autumn in Chang 'an is Du Mu, a writer in Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
The tower stands tall, standing on an autumn tree; The sky is clear and transparent, like a mirror with Xi's dust on it.
Autumn is so lofty and boundless, compared with the height of the mountain, the momentum is difficult to distinguish.
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Towering towers stand on an autumn tree; The sky is clear, like a spotless mirror. Autumn is so lofty and vast, compared with the steep Nanshan, the momentum is inseparable.
The author of Tianjingsha Qiu Si is Ma Zhiyuan, a writer in Yuan Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Old vines and faint crows, small bridges and flowing water.
The ancient road and the west wind are thin.
When the sun sets, heartbroken people are at the end of the world.
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The withered vines are wrapped around the old trees, and the branches are inhabited by crows returning to their nests at dusk. Under the small bridge, there are several families by the running water. On the ancient and desolate road, the autumn wind is bleak, and a tired thin horse carries me forward. The sun is setting slowly, and the extremely sad traveler is still wandering at the end of the world.