But I see Furong Lake in Wuxi. The water is vast and the mountains are far away, and the willow bank is lingering in the blue stream. It's sunny and there are no geese. Doubt is the first dream of Jinghu Lake in autumn. There is only a small fire at the edge of Danju village, and geese fly in the blue lumen. Depressed leaves hang on the banks of the Yang family, and there is little smell of smashing clothes across the water. Waves of clouds are uneven, and the blue light behind the sun is hidden and deep. Just like looking at the sea tree in the middle, Moon Lake is hidden by mountains. The old mountain recognizes the haze, and the lake spreads green holes. I'm glad to see Yunquan still disappointed, but I'm ashamed that I won't go back to the mountain. Blue cliffs and valleys are clear, and tired birds return to the clouds. The melancholy bald heads are four old people, carrying dust to Yichuan. Poem: Looking at the Furong Lake in Wuxi. Author: Li Shen in Tang Dynasty