The cicadas are miserable,
Facing the pavilion at night,
The showers have begun to subside.
There is no thought of drinking in the capital tent,
place of nostalgia,
Lan Zhou urged him to start.
Holding hands and looking into tearful eyes,
I was speechless and choked.
Thinking about thousands of miles of mist,
The evening mist is heavy and the sky is vast.
Passionate feelings hurt parting since ancient times,
It's even more embarrassing to neglect the Qingqiu Festival!
Where will you wake up tonight?
The dawn wind and the waning moon on the willow bank.
Years have passed since then,
It should be a false display of good times and good times.
Even though there are thousands of styles,
Who should I tell it to?