Liu Zongyuan's masterpiece:
Jiang Xue was written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of ancient poetry is as follows:
There are no birds flying over those mountains, and there are no traces of people in those paths.
A boat on the river, a fisherman wearing his webworm moth; Fishing alone is not afraid of snow and ice.
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The surrounding mountains are rolling and empty, and there are no birds singing or traces of birds. There are no traces of people on all the paths that shuttle inside and outside the mountains. Only on the wide and calm river, an old fisherman wearing a hat is sitting alone in a lonely boat fishing.
The author of Western Drama is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of ancient poetry is as follows:
I have been troubled by official hats and robes for a long time, so I am glad to be an exile in this barbaric south.
I am now a neighbor of growers and harvesters, and I am a guest of the mountain forest.
I plow in the morning, turn over the grass with dew, and tie a fishing boat at night to break the quiet stream.
I walked back and forth, hardly meeting anyone, singing long poems and staring at the blue sky.
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Tired of official duties for a long time, fortunately, he was relegated to the southern minority areas. When I have nothing to do, I am next to the farmer's vegetable garden, sometimes like a hermit in the mountains. In the morning, I plow and turn weeds with dew. In the evening, when I came back from rowing, the boat hit a boulder and made a noise. Lonely, I can't contact other people. I look at the green Chutian and sing loudly.
The Fisherman was written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of ancient poetry is as follows:
The fisherman rests on the western hills at night, learns the clear water in the morning, and cooks for firewood.
The sun disappears like a cloud, and the sound of sculls comes from green mountains and green waters.
Looking back, the fishing boat has drifted below the horizon, and white clouds are floating in the mountains, chasing each other.
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In the evening, the fisherman anchored his boat at the foot of the western hills. At dawn, he picked up the clear water of Xiangjiang River and lit Chu Zhuxiang. When the sun rose, he disappeared. I heard the sound of wooden paddles, and suddenly I saw green mountains and green waters. Looking back, he has sailed to the center of the sky; On the top of the rock, only unintentional white clouds chase each other.
Little Stone Pond was written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of ancient poetry is as follows:
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120 steps west of the mountain, across the bamboo forest, smelling the sound of water, like singing, I am happy. Cut bamboo and walk along the road, and see the small pool below, the water is particularly clear. The whole stone is at the bottom, close to the shore, and the bottom of the rolling stone comes out, which is a mountain, an island, a mountain and a rock. Green trees and vines, covered and twisted, staggered and brushed.
There are hundreds of fish in the pond. They are all swimming in the air. The sun is shining, the shadow is on the stone, motionless, far away, and it seems that I am very happy with the tourists.
Looking from the southwest of the pool, you can see that it is zigzag. Their shore potentials are different from each other and their sources are unknown.
Sitting by the pool, surrounded by bamboo forests, lonely and empty, sad and cold, quiet and quiet. It is too clear to live for a long time, but remember.
Travelers: Wu Wuling, Gong Gu, Yu Dizong Xuan. The second son Cui Shi said, "Forgive yourself and serve me." .
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Walking west from the mountain 120 steps, you can hear the sound of water coming through the bamboo forest, like the sound of Yu Pei and Yuhuan wearing on people. I feel very happy in my heart. So cut down the bamboo and make a road. Walking on the road, I saw a small pool, which was exceptionally clear. The whole bottom of the pool is a whole stone, close to the shore. Some parts of the bottom of the stone rolled out of the water to form caves, islands, cliffs, rocks and other shapes. Green trees and green vines are covered, twisted, shaken, connected, uneven and floating in the wind.
There are about a hundred fish in the pond. They all seem to swim in the air without any support. The sun shines directly on the bottom of the pool, reflecting the fish's shadow on the stones at the bottom of the pool. The shadow of the fish is still, suddenly wandering in the distance, coming and going briskly, as if playing with tourists.
Looking along the southwest of Xiaoshitang, the creek bank twists and turns like the Big Dipper and bends like a snake. Some places are exposed to the water, and some places are submerged, either now or hidden. The shape of the creek bank is staggered like a dog's teeth, and the source of the pool cannot be seen.
I sat on the bank of Xiaoshichi, surrounded by bamboo and trees. No one is quiet, which makes people feel sad, cold and deep. Because the environment here is too bleak to stay long, (I) recorded this scene and left.
I was accompanied by Wu Wuling, Gong Gu and my younger brother Zong Xuan. As followers, there are two young people named Cui: one is Ji and the other is Cui Fengyi.
Chao Tang and Zhao Reading Classics was written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of this ancient poem is as follows:
Swallow cool well water to rinse your mouth, clean your heart, and then brush away the dust.
Lift the Buddhist scriptures leisurely, stroll out of Dongzhai, and recite aloud.
The true meaning of Buddhist scriptures is not understood, but it pursues absurdity for the people.
The essence of Buddhism and Confucianism is also expected to coincide, but I am not good at practicing nature.
Taoist temple is so quiet, green and fresh moss is connected with the depths of bamboo forest.
Now, the sun rises from mist and fog, and pine trees seem to be bathed in new sunshine.
Peace makes me indifferent to peace and feel the inner comfort of Buddhism.
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Rinse your mouth and brush your teeth with cool well water, and then brush the dust off your clothes after cleaning. Leisurely picked up the Buddhist Bayeux Sutra, strolled out of Dongzhai, and recited the Buddhist scriptures. The true meaning of Buddhist scriptures is not understood by the world, but absurd things are pursued by people. The essence of Buddhism and Confucianism can also be expected to coincide, but how to cultivate their own nature in this way? How elegant and quiet the Taoist temple is, and the fresh moss connects the depths of the bamboo forest. The sun came out, shining the morning mist in Yu Lu, and the green pine trees were like grease after bathing. Silence makes me quiet and speechless, and I am happy and satisfied when I realize the Tao.
From Liuzhou Tower to My Four Villagers, Zhang, Ding, Feng and Lian, was written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of this ancient poem is as follows:
On the tower at the end of this town, the wilderness began, and our desire reached as far as the ocean or the sky.
The hibiscus flowers beside the moat are swaying in the sudden wind. The oblique rain whipped the vines on the wall.
We can't see anything beyond 300 miles, except vague Woods and mountains, and there are nine rivers winding in our stomachs.
I have been to 100 tattoo places, and it is also a place where music and books are stagnant.
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From the high-rise buildings of the city overlooking the empty wilderness, such as the vast sea and sky, sadness pours out. The strong wind randomly overturned the lotus in the water, and the dense rain obliquely hit the wall covered with Ficus pumila. The trees on the mountain heavily cover the prospect, and the river twists and turns like a nine-turn ileum. We came to Baiyue together, a minority area. Although we are in the same place, it is difficult to get through.
The author of Early Plum is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
The early plum blossoms are on the high branches, looking at the blue sky from a distance.
The north wind is floating in Ye Xiang, and the frost is white.
I want to fold it and send it thousands of miles away, but there is no way to answer the question.
Seeing that the cold winter is about to wither, what can I use to comfort my distant friends?
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Chimonanthus praecox bloomed early on the tall trees, and the flowers set off the blue southern sky. At night, the north wind blows a wisp of fragrance, and the frost moistens the white and beautiful flowers in the morning. It's a long way to send flowers to friends and relatives thousands of miles away. Flowers will wither in the cold wind, so what can I do to comfort distant guests?
The author of Sitting in Wuling at Early Autumn Night is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
A little rain invaded the bamboo and turned the magpie.
Beauty leaves Xiangpu, and autumn wind is born overnight.
Fog accumulation is extremely difficult, and the waves are endless.
Acacia far away, impromptu.
If people hold strange sounds, bamboo strings will wither.
Qing merchants stimulated the west, overwhelming.
Self-satisfaction, self-satisfaction, self-satisfaction, self-satisfaction
I wish my voice was simple, but I am deaf and vulgar.
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The rustling rain swept into the bamboo forest with the wind, and frightened crows and magpies danced in the forest. The missing person was blocked on the other side of the river, and the cold wind blew all night. Thick clouds, boundless, gray water, choppy. How can someone you miss be far away? It's a pity that you can't sing at his knee in your seat. There is wonderful music hidden in this beauty's heart. Jiao Tong wood, tight string scarlet. The tunes of the Qing dynasty fluttered in the autumn sky, like flashing floating light mapped to the sky. Qin music comes from inner feelings rather than affectation, and it is natural without any artificial processing. But subtle voices are sealed in my heart, where can deaf people know and understand?
To Jiang Hua's predecessors is written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
The old monk is familiar with Taoism, but his heart is silent.
Last year, I stayed with the grave and drifted here.
There is no waiter in the room, and the towels are just hanging on the wall.
If you don't want to rest for a meal, it will be ruined.
The wind window is sparse and bamboo rings, and the open well is cold and loose.
Occasionally, I live in peace and the grass is full of flowers.
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The old monk is proficient in stone morality, and he is silent and quiet all day long. It is said that he left Fuling last year and went to Lingling along Xiaoshui. There is no waiter in the humble room, only towels and shoes hanging on the wall screen. Refuse to save a grain of rice when eating, and sit cross-legged after dinner until the sun goes down. The wind outside the window rustled the sparse bamboo branches and exposed the old pine trees by the well. The suitable place is the place to settle down, the courtyard Qing Xiang.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, wrote the book A Gift from Lingling. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Peace in the world, of course, despises students, so we are naturally abandoned to Xiaoxiang.
Sunshine strives for four, knocking on the stone.
We are like birds whose feathers have been destroyed, resting on dead branches, singing low and sad voices to each other.
The dark clouds in the north blow cold, and in this late autumn season, it is deserted and desolate.
A gentleman is tolerant, but a villain is dangerous.
Sad and sad, we visit each other every day, and worry and worry about it.
Drink and chat, sing and trust the disciples.
It's a pity that your tuner is not here, and you can't play our songs very well.
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Of course, Taiping world looks down on students and talents, so we are naturally abandoned and exiled to the edge of Xiaoxiang. It's as if the sun's rays have shone all over the world, just as useless as the sparks from knocking on a stone. We are like birds whose feathers are destroyed, stopping on dead branches, singing high and low, responding to each other, and our voices are sad. Dark clouds in the north blew a chill. In this late autumn season, Liu Zongyuan's introduction is empty and desolate. In dangerous situations, gentlemen pay more attention to leisure, while young people just cringe to protect themselves, trembling and panicking. When we are sad, we visit each other every day, and our feelings of worry and anger are growing. Pour a few glasses of wine, you can talk about everything, forget your troubles, but indulge in singing, which others will definitely not listen to. It's a pity that your tuning confidant is not here at the moment, so you can't play and sing our poems beautifully.
The author of The Ancient East Gate is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Create a rebellion, and the heavenly soldiers seize power; Sweeping thousands of miles, invincible.
Cockcrow and dog thief, falcon; Like ants, the appearance of God.
Young assassins, killing people; Officers and officers, lose your guard.
The robbers roared and escorted away; Poor Feng Jing was assassinated.
The murderer was able to get away with it with a smug smile on his face. All the civil and military officials were silent and were stunned by Mu's words.
Wang Wei saved Zhao, pretending to be true. It's a pity to be killed in the west.
Like an allegory, the car market is defended; Wu Qi appealed to Xiu De first.
The murderer died in vain, and it is difficult to tell the real killer from the real one. Xing, make sure it's in a deep well.
Zhongliang died and his head fell to the ground; With the burial, who gave it to whom?
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Yafu counterinsurgency, mountain soldiers outbursts; Sweep thousands of miles and be invincible. Chickens crow and dogs steal, carving insects and tricks; Like an ant door guest, the appearance is close to the spirit. Young assassins, killing unscrupulous people; The officers and men held fast and lost their vigilance. When the gangster shouted, the guard ran away; Poor Feng Jing, was assassinated. The murderer succeeded, grinning and secretly pleased; Civil and military silence, dumbfounded. Wang Wei saved Zhao, and he didn't mean it; It's a pity that Zixi was killed. Like a fable, Che Shi defends himself; Wu Qi remonstrated, and Xiu De came first. Yuan Ang died in vain, and the real murderer is difficult to distinguish; Ranger in Nie Zheng, deep well to identify the body. Loyalty and martyrdom, head landing; A heavy burial is acceptable, and it will be given to whoever it is.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, is the author of "Seeing my friends off to Beijing with my teacher at Haochu". The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Ying Chao on the sea is like a sword, cutting people's sadness in autumn everywhere.
How can we turn this body into tens of millions, scattered to the heads of state's homes to see!
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The sharp mountain peak by the sea is like a sword. In this sad autumn, I feel it stings my sad heart everywhere. If you can cut your sadness and body into hundreds of billions, scatter them on the summit and look at your hometown.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, wrote "Reading Jia Huiling's Ancient Poems". The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Every time I recall the scale, I wander in the ruler, turning over and over the feathers of trouble and weakness.
There should be countless ancient buildings on the shore, and the next line looks in the other direction.
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I often think of small fish floating in the pond and worry that their wings are too tender to climb into the sky. Going to Beijing by boat, there are countless earth castles on the shore, but looking back, Lingling's relatives and friends are getting farther and farther away.
The author of Miluo Meets the Wind is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
When I came back from the south, I no longer served my country like Qu Yuan. I felt sorry for myself and hoped that Chang 'an would return to the imperial court.
On the road of this spring breeze, on the road along the Miluo River, remember the sages, inspire yourself to do it, and don't live up to this enlightened era.
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When I come back from the south, I don't have to feel sorry for my country like Qu Yuan. I can also go back to Chang 'an and the imperial court. On the way along the Miluo River in this spring breeze, I reminisce about the sages and motivate myself to do something to live up to this enlightened era.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, wrote that "I am not drunk when I am away from my hometown, but I am a host". The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Infinite people send them to wake up alone, poor and lonely to the pavilion.
Jingzhou did not meet Levin, and it was a cold night in the hall.
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Many old friends sent away an untimely person, endured the pain of separation and went to Changting. When I was banished to the southern wilderness, I never met a friend like Li Shiqi. I can't sleep at night, and the cold spring fills the lower hall.
The author of Hengyang and Farewell to Dreams is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Yongzhou worked hard for ten years and came to the capital; On the third day of Chang 'an's reign, the emperor was escorted to the court by the imperial edict.
Take the old road of the Han Dynasty, remember General Ma Yuan; Where is the old stone man, idle grass trail.
You and I don't want to cling to entwine and slander loyal ministers; The poem should be unexpected, so I advise you to write a pseudonym.
Where are you going today? It's silence and silence. Why the river, tears can Zhuo Zhuo ying.
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Yongzhou has worked hard for ten years, languishing and dying into Beijing; Chang' an did not finish the 30 th day, and he was ordered to guard the border court. Set foot on the old road of the Han Dynasty and remember General Ma Yuan; Where are the stone men of the past? There are no grass paths. You and I have no intention of being together, only Nuo Nuo slanders loyal ministers; Poetry and prose have caused trouble, so I advise you to seal your pen and remain anonymous. Today, where will you go is to cry silently; You don't have to go to the river to fetch water, you can shed tears.
The author of My Unique Zong Yi is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Scattered residual red all over the gloom, double hanging farewell tears across the river.
The treacherous party, because the party did not leave the capital, lived more than 6 thousand miles away; I left Baiyue desolate, gaunt and poor for the rest of my life.
Guiling malaria forest, black clouds hanging white; Welcome to the beautiful future of Dongting with spring scenery and water and sky.
Fang Wei depends on dreams, and acacia is willing to sleep on the pillow; Wandering in the dim light, the clouds seem to be real.
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Where will you go in human affairs, the ghost of the soul is doubly sad; There are tears on the bank of Liujiang River, and the brothers are crying. The traitor left Beijing to seize power, temporarily avoiding six thousand miles away; I was abandoned for a hundred years, and I was haggard and poor for the rest of my life. Guiling is full of miasma in the mountains, and the dark clouds hang down a hundred epidemics; I'm glad to hear that Dongting is good, and the water is vast and promising. The party only depends on Conan's dream, and acacia is willing to sleep; Fugue vaguely Jingmen, misty.
Citrus reticulata planted in the northwest corner of Liuzhou is written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
200 oranges are planted artificially, and new leaves are spread all over the city in spring.
Fang Tongchu pitied Imperial Tree and didn't learn from Limu slave in Jingzhou.
How old are you?
If you wait until the day of the forest, you will taste as good as the old man.
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I planted 200 oranges myself. Spring has come, the leaves are green, and the northwest corner of the city is also green. I like this beautiful tree of nature as much as Qu Yuan. Don't use orange trees as wood slaves to make profits like Hengli. How many teenagers will it take to smell its white floral fragrance like a snow spray boat? Who would pick a fruit that looks like a pendant? If I wait until the orange tree becomes a forest, its fruity taste will last until I am old.
The author of "Twenty Rhymes of Traveling to Chaoyang Rock and Climbing to Xiting" is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Abandon seclusion and ascend to the outer suburbs. I am slow and depressed, and I want to carry my nest.
A high rock overlooks the Qingjiang River, and a secluded cave hides the gods. Open the sunny scenery and return to the thin forest.
The West Pavilion forms its top, which faces the sky. Looking back at the stars, watching the clouds and rain.
Cherish my homeland, I can be shaded. When I went to Jiang Jie, I still believed in the world.
So the villa is Fengchuan, and several acres are fat. Taige repairs barren hills and ponds are hollowed out.
There will be a love story between Guihe. Thin and unbelieving, obscene drama.
It is right for a prisoner to live in prison. He has been ashamed for a long time. In addition to planting wormwood in court, the gap is dead.
Surrounded by mountains and waters, the boat lingers. Clean up the enemy's food and replace it with good food.
There are high words in the right path, but there are no strings of interest. The leisurely screen is obscure and the text is faint.
The morning chicken doesn't bully, but the wind and rain smell it. I will be free forever, and I will move to the middle.
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Being demoted and abandoned is different from living in seclusion, just going to the suburbs to climb mountains for fun. I dare not compare with Boyi and Chao Fu, but only seek to relieve the depression in my heart. The high Chaoyang rock overlooks the Qingjiang River, and the deep hole is deep. The morning sun just passed through the open rock mouth and jumped over the forest top at the top of the rock. The West Pavilion was built at the top of the cave, and the protruding eaves extended into the blue sky. Looking up, you can see the stars rising, and under the pavilion, you can see the rain in Yun Teng. It's a pity that this is not my hometown, and there are vast Yuan Ye herbs everywhere. I have been to the Yangtze River when I was a child, and I have only been seeking official positions in the Central Plains. My hometown is near the Fengshui River, and there are several acres of fertile land near my home. There are pavilions on the mountain, and the pond is connected with deep and clear water. Just because I love official positions, I have attracted the ridicule of the mountains. It's really useless to be meager, and too much attention is paid to trivial matters. Of course, prisoners living in different places deserve it, and their humiliation has long been tolerated. I planted wormwood in the yard, and octopus hung on the narrow window. Fortunately, a landscape guest condescended to visit and drove a long, pointed boat. A spoonful of water is better than wine, and picking some wild vegetables can replace delicacies. Like-minded people speak clearly and do not need strings to entertain each other. A carefree life drives away bad luck, and a weak mood blocks the noise. The cock crowing at dawn won't lie to me, and I also heard the cock crowing in the wind and rain. I hope to have more leisure time, and I will come here again with my chef to have fun.
The author of The Topic of South Zhong Jian is Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
The cold of late autumn gathered in Nanjian, and I went alone at noon.
The autumn wind hovers in the stream, and the shadow of braintree is like a horn blowing.
When I first arrived here, I didn't feel it. Walking into the deep gorge a little bit seemed to forget to dissipate.
In the deep valley, it sounds like a low bird song, and the cold stream echoes in the ripples.
Dreams always leave the soul of the capital, and it is sad to miss the tears of old friends.
It is easy to feel lonely, but it is better to get lost.
Why am I so depressed? I know why I am depressed.
People who will be demoted to Yongzhou in the future will definitely like my poems.
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The cold of late autumn gathered in Nanjian, and I went to visit alone at noon. Autumn wind rings in the stream, and the shadows of green trees shake like flutes. When I first came here, it felt different. When I walked into a deep stream, I felt that I had forgotten my fatigue. In the deep valley, it sounds like a bird tied, and the cold seaweed in the stream echoes in the ripples. In my dream, I always wander in the capital that has left, and I only miss the tears of my old friend with sadness. Lonely life is easy to be sad, and only when you get lost do you feel that there are few places suitable for your home. Why on earth am I so depressed? I know the reason why I am depressed and hesitant (the author was demoted here for supporting the New Deal, and there is no hope of returning to Korea). Anyone who moves to Yongzhou in the future will have the same "lung and liver worries" as me.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, wrote You Shijiao Crossing Xiaoling to Changwu Village. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
If ambition is not expensive, Tao can't drag out an ignoble existence.
For a long time, I forgot to be sealed and laughed to heaven.
Escape from the official sumo, shake the heart of the drama hanging.
At first, I was shocked by the world, and finally I wanted to escape punishment.
Years kill worries, and you will meet them carelessly.
Chasing the person I love, restoring feelings.
Shijiao takes a quiet road, long and dark.
Back in Maoshu, Jingyan was deserted.
Looking at the few pedestrians, I can hear the storks singing in the fields.
The wind rushed far away, and the frosty rice invaded the mountain.
A little leisure with others will benefit from a relaxed life experience.
It is futile to be a farmer's coke.
The tree stays in the old country, and he is willing to say that he is sincere.
Four anti-fields, Shi Gauguin.
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I only hope to realize Ming Dow's ambition, and I'm afraid to drag out an ignoble existence. For a long time now, I forgot to play, and even laughed at those who seek immortality. When I was demoted to Yongzhou Sima, I was worried about food and shelter. One is afraid of being discussed by the world, the other is afraid that the emperor will sentence me to death. I'm worried that today, with the passage of time, I will promise nothing when I am free. Traveling around is what I love, relieving depression and relaxing. Walking in the quiet stone corner, the village head is empty. Maolin blocked Shi Jian Road and passed through the forest. It suddenly appeared dull and bright. Looking into the distance, there were few pedestrians, and I heard three or two storks in the field. The wind blows bamboo, the water is far away, and Ao Shuang Mihai Mountain is flat. Participate in worldly affairs and know that your life is light. Being a farmer is really fun and being an official is full of vanity. There is no shortage of talents in the DPRK, hoping to serve the country faithfully. I want to give up my official position, go back to the countryside, and devote myself to Gao Dong's comforting life.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, wrote "Walking Alone in the North Pool of Yuxi after Rain". The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Stop at Zhouzhu, Liming and Guangming Village Pier in Yun Yun.
The tall trees are near the pool, and the night wind scares the rain.
If you are not satisfied with anything, I will be a guest and host.
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Last night's falling clouds floated lazily on the small continent in the water, and the rising sun lit up the hut in the mountain village. Tall trees stand by the clear pond, and the breeze blows off the pearls brought by the rain at night. My heart is calm, not the beautiful scenery when guests get along with their hosts.
Looking at the West Garden at Midnight and Appreciating the Moon is a work written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Wake up in the middle of the night, hear the heavy dew, and open the door to face the garden in the west of Yuxi.
A Leng Yue is rising in Dongling, and the crystal sound of the air is that the water is flowing against the sparse roots.
The farther away the spring is from the rock, the more you can feel the birds' calls. Birds on the mountain make amazing soul calls from time to time.
I leaned against the pillar of my room until dawn, and I was very lonely. What else can I say?
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I woke up in the middle of the night and heard the heavy dripping of dew. I opened the door and faced the faint vegetable garden in the west of Yuxi. A Leng Yue is rising on the ridge in the east, and the clear sound is that the water is scouring the sparse bamboo roots. The spring water flows down from the rock, and the farther it flows, the louder it is. Birds in the mountains make calls from time to time, which is really amazing. I leaned against the pillar of the house until dawn, feeling lonely and still having nothing to say.
My "Summer and Japan" is written by Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
The summer in Yongzhou was wet and hot, so that the man dozed off drunk, pushed open the north window and had a long sleep.
Liu Zongyuan, who felt lonely in the afternoon, and Shan Tong knocked on the tea mortar across the bamboo mat.
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The summer in Yongzhou is wet and hot, which makes people sleepy like drunkards, pushing open the north window and sleeping soundly. Woke up at noon, only feel the dead silence of the earth, opposite the bamboo forest, only the sound of Shan Tong knocking on the tea mortar when making new tea.
Liu Zongyuan, a writer in the Tang Dynasty, is the author of Crossing the River in Rainy Weather. The full text of his ancient poems is as follows:
Jiang Yu Chuqing Philip Burkart step, day * * to Yuxi cross.
Cross the water into the village and stir the floating trees.
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After the rain, Chu Qing wanted to take a walk by the river in the distance. When the sun set, Xishan went to Yuxi Ferry alone. Only when the flood receded did the path near the village reappear, and the floating rafts were scattered all over the floor, and some were hung high on the branches.