It's a different kind of fragrance, not to mention too gaudy to make it bloom. Ling Bo wants to go away, but he lives in the east wind. It's so desolate, how can it endure autumn like this? I still take it, half a wisp of cold fragrance, the first Xiangjiang rain. A kind of eyebrow, the lower string is not as good as the first string. Geng Lang is not old yet, why should he be sad so early? The plain wall glows obliquely, and the shadow of bamboo sweeps across the window. The empty room was quiet, the crow was about to crow, and I went down to the west building again. (Morning view of Huanghuacheng) The light is cold on the fifth night, and the snow is level on the stack. What's the limit of the west wind? I'll put on my clothes and watch. I feel confused about this and sigh. At that time, the dawn stars are about to disperse, and the wild geese fly over the flat sand. The small courtyard is newly cool, and I feel that my clothes are thin when I come late. Don't drink alone, socializing with nothing. . Xiao Si pity you, farewell to Xiao Suo. The west wind is strong, the sunset is blowing, and a burst of locust flowers are falling.
The span of three hundred years is just to live up to your waiting.