<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > mulberry picking and ten years of dust Lake State dream</h1>
Jin Dynasty: Wang Huan
Ten years of dusty Lake State dream, still meet. The eyes are about the same heart, and the ethereal spirit is a little bit clear.
Looking for spring self-hatred comes to he twilight, and spring becomes empty. Annoyed by the east wind, the green is exhausted and the shade falls red.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > partridge day and autumn after Tinggao wood leaves are thin</h1>
After the autumn, the leaves of the pavilion are sparse, and the geese return to the south before the frost. Xiao yun scattered to the mountainside thin, and the water surface was fat when the rain came.
I am old, long forgotten, sand gulls are relatively not startled. Father Liu Xi should have mercy on me, but the old fishing rock in the south of the creek is desolate.
<h1 class = "pgc-h-arrow-right" > the water's edge of the cane at dusk</h1>
The west wind of the water country swayed slightly, and the people were chaotic as silk.
Dafu Zeban was at the barn, when Sima Jiangtou bid farewell.
The elders are hurting me, and this heart is only known to the other.
Cang Yanhua's hair is as promised, and it is too late to hang up the crown.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > send the official full two seconds</h1>
The grass hall newly grows alone, so the people do not come to the yellow leaf deep.
Tea smoke dissipates the tiredness of the day, and the plum moon night is cold and lazy to tune the piano.
I sang Li Ju Yu Jun wine, Jun out of the Yang Guan guan hurt my heart.
The east of the Yangtze River went to the floating painting crane, looking forward to the cloud tree Huai Zhiyin.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > Zhang Xizhao</h1>
Seeing that the Easterners are hanging upside down, they are requiring Lao Tzu and Enron.
Yu Zhi and Qi overflowed, and wanted to see the first sound of ten thousand oral transmissions.
Sit and make the nomads ashamed of their swords, and there is no adulterous official who wants money.
Laughing and talking about public affairs, I regret sending hundreds of new poems.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > Yimin Dao</h1>
Trails have been all over the south of Shuo for many years, consuming the hip meat trapped in the signs.
The residents win one hundred and five days, and the tired passenger flow is sixty-three.
The water nature is still old, and the trees are so I can't help it.
The bottle has no reserves of millet and is still returning, and it is already greedy to have good land.