The ancient and modern poems are as vast as the ocean, and I don’t know how many beautiful sentences there are.

The ancient and modern poetry is as vast as the sea, and there are countless beautiful sentences.

A bridge named Naihe. A river named Wangchuan. By the Sansheng Stone, the beautiful woman is still there. I wish to accompany you for three thousand drunken laughs without complaining about separation. Recall that people are like jade, broken into the void. Unfortunately, Feihong passed away, every word is sad, and the feelings are hard to think about. The flowers and water in the environment are at your fingertips. He drank Meng Po soup with a smile. She doesn't shed tears of beauty. I can't stand the rain and mist, and I feel as sad as parting. If there is an afterlife, I will fall in love with you.

The lonely Gu Chen messed up whose hair; the riverside of Sansheng promised to whose fleeting years. But who on the bridge drank the Meng Po soup and carved this longing for me. Forget, sentimentality! The red thread tied by mistake in Yue Lao's hand has been dull for thousands of years. Years pass by like a fleeting time, allowing me to miss you endlessly; the butterfly flower falls, allowing you a lifetime of tenderness; the full moon is missing, and the oath is poignant, but in the end the flowers bloom in that life and fall in this life.

Still water runs deep, the music plays in the wind, and you are like a flower and a beautiful family. It is just because you look back that I often think about morning and evening. After turning around, a wisp of fragrance is far away, the passing snow is shallow, the feeling of spring is strong, and the smile is deep. One leaf blooms, one pursues, one flower blooms, one world, one person loves one person all his life.

The poetry style of the Tang Dynasty, the poetry of the Song Dynasty, the ink dyed with colored glaze, graceful and lingering. The spring rain is soft, the pipa is thin, the rain lane is dancing, and the flowers are falling on the shoulders. Dreaming back to the south of the Yangtze River, I have been drunk for a thousand years. Ancient trees, small bridges, flowing water, oil-paper umbrellas, and bluestone slabs are a dream back to Jiangnan thousands of years ago. The wind blows the shadows of flowers, dragonflies dance drunkenly, neon is clear, the ups and downs on the canal cause smoke waves, and the winding foam teases loneliness in the air. Leaning on the railing, the breeze fills the sleeves, who is swaying lonely at the entrance of the lilac alley?

The feelings are intense and the thoughts are tender. Love is planted in the field, sealed with two hearts. Fighting but infatuated, going against the secular world, flying eagle to understand love in North and South Vietnam. You are very thoughtful, but I am crazy. So tender, so pitiful. Slender hands embrace each other, and they cuddle tenderly. Lingering embroidered curtains cover, lingering and shy spring. Every frown and smile touches your heart, every word warms my heart. Thinking back on the unfinished fate of her previous life, tears fell into a grave to blame Po Meng. I have mistakenly fulfilled my previous vows to the Buddha for several lifetimes. The mandarin ducks and their necks have become empty. I hate you endlessly.

The green twilight is slightly cold, and the long door locks away visitors from far away. Quietly, the courtyard is filled with frost and autumn colors, the fragrance of chrysanthemums is singing to the music, and only tears can be seen falling from the deep hatred. Speaking of broken, how can we not see the bright spring scenery around the pond, the moon on the bank of the pond, drunk before and now asleep again, no one is surprising the travelers in the deep courtyard, and weeping on the swing at dusk. The courtyard was full of mist and rain, flowers were blooming wildly, and there was no one to talk about the loneliness. The scenery on the straight road is good, so we often meet together. Without thinking about it for a day, the singers from the north sing loudly and follow Yi back home.

The mourning kite plays a heart-breaking song, the east wind blows resentment, and the eyebrows are filled with sorrow. Whose promise was given to heaven and earth? The peaks of the eyebrows are covered with cold green, and the frost flowers in the dew wells travel thousands of miles, but they are not with the beautiful woman. Encounter. I miss you every day, who do you want to tell me to? The remaining lamp shines on me and I can't sleep. The light moon entering the window is as light as water, gurgling just like the tears of someone leaving. Who is the Lonely Broken Bridge open to? The fragrant flowers were scattered and rolled into the mud. One day, the wind and dew sent flowers flying all over the sky. In ecstasy, the plum flute played the Yangguan song.

The night is cold and cold, I toss and turn, feeling sleepy with worries. Sauvignon Blanc, infinite. Leaning lightly against the cold window, the clear moonlight casts a lonely shadow. We exchanged tears with each other, sang the wine in the bottle, and felt incomprehensible sadness. What a good time? It only hurts. The quality is slender, adding a bit of leisurely sorrow, and the beauty is haggard. I miss you, the road is so long, and I have no way to send my lovesickness. Worry and guilt, how can we comfort hardship?

Last night I was drunk and lying down at dusk. After singing, the fireworks flew away and I saw the sunset with my beloved. Looking at the end of the world and thinking, a heartbroken person hates the long distant mountains. Dreams follow yellow flowers, and they stay with dew and are fragrant. The crow of the bird broke the drunkenness and was awakened by you. Seeing the waning moon in the morning wind again, it is even more chaotic and a little sad, plain and a little desolate. A touch of love, the mortal world always encounters vicissitudes of life.

The slanting wind wraps up the drizzle, making the deserted courtyard lightly wet. The heavy door is hidden from visitors. The smoke and water on the screen are delicate and the flowers are falling. The green willows hate the cold sky. After the war, I sobered up and read poetry. The dangerous rhyme stirs the loneliness in the heart, and thousands of thoughts go over again. The upstairs has been covered with curtains for several days, and the lingering dream of the cold fragrance disappearing is shattered. Looking at the sky with sad eyes, the tung flowers are gone, the smoke collects the autumn water, and I am a guest from the far end of the world.

Looking at flowers in the mist, admiring the moon in the water, all the layers of rain are dyed, looking at the sky on the sea of ??clouds, flying birds singing in courtship, the sound of people expressing love soothing the silence, money confusing people's hearts, the true love revealed by falling stones, who is it? block. A lifetime of love and a lifetime of resentment, how long will it take to get rid of it? There are two faces, real and fake, they laugh without saying anything, and they have warnings and witty words on their lips, but their hearts are connected. The message is vague, the words are short, and the world is floating in the dust. How can I think about it for a thousand years?

Alas, the warmth and coldness of things and the impermanence of worldly affairs make everything sad and sad, with tears streaming down our face. Let's not forget the past. Looking back suddenly, it's a completely different situation. Time has passed and the years have passed. What is the end of the hesitation? I still remember that the evening sky is coming around Qingsu, and the hunting birds are on their way back. Worrying about your return, the autumn water has turned into ice, which is very sad. It was a lot of fun when I was young, and I will remember it endlessly when I am old. The years are quiet and the past worries have faded away.

The fog is hazy, the person is gone, and love is empty. Who will make the promise of a hundred years? I miss you for thousands of miles and feel sorrow. The love is endless, the lovesickness is lingering, the heart is sad, and the eyes are filled with tears for whom. The moon is dark and the stars are sinking, the cold wind is coming, the cold rain is coming, who knows that it will be hard to sleep all night? It's windy and rainy in the third autumn and cold at the fifth watch. The wind is about to stop, the rain stops, the lake is not flat, the waves are slightly swaying, and I hate the water for a long time.

Whoever solves it, the knot in my heart has become a sorrow. In the world of mortals, love and hate are wandering. Since ancient times, lovers have always been hurt by ruthlessness. I forget the words and my heart wanders, leaving only a thousand lines of lovesickness tears. The strings are broken, and the pain is hidden. In a lonely place, leaning against the west window.

Teardrops hang on the cheeks, slender hands protect the beautiful eyelashes, rolling to the side and whispering to reveal the resentment, looking through the chest and unwilling to sleep. Compassion day after day, the flowers bloom in the deep mountains, and the mellow fragrance is not greedy for the sun and moon. I only complain that it is difficult to prevent mosquitoes and flies, the flowers have not faded, and new wounds have been added, and my heart has not yet shed all the tears to bury the sorrow. The mouth is closed and the green onion is spoken, the kind eyes are stained with darkness, the dangerous situation is sitting in the habit of nature, and it is difficult to smile after cutting off the hair. The mortal world is fighting for beauty, the fragrance of flowers lures heroes, the heart of spring cannot be compared to the spring breeze dream, and the incontinent laughter is infatuated.

A prosperous place, a page of paper, a wisp of smoke at the front edge of a stroke. Bihen cries to shatter the dream of agarwood, white hair regrets going to the sun. The jingle is red, the kite is sighing, and the frost-shocked sword is rustling coldly. Men have been married since ancient times, and abandoned pearls are scattered across the sea.

On the treetops, after dusk, the soft wind rolls through the bead curtains. Danfeng eyes, willow leaf eyebrows, light dark green and clever makeup. Jade hands play neon clothes, the sound is like a spring, every sentence is intoxicating, and the wine is poured out to miss lovesickness.

The time is like smoke, the flowers on the road are low and graceful. The peach blossoms are partially dyed, I admire the paintings lightly, miss the beauty, and lean against the east wall. Turn around, be in a trance, and for a moment, it is unbearable to see, and the passage of time is everywhere where the wind passes. The waves swaying under the Xiling Bridge, a journey of mist and rain meet, a flick of the wind meets, a flick of the pipa at the end of the world, a lifetime into the painting of your night chanting poems. Even the first time we met has extended to our youth. I have loved you for a thousand years and held your hand for a thousand years.

Sighing in front of the window, smiling in the residual dream, empty and sad, with desolate words and pictures. The meaning of spring is joyful with a clear bottle of wine, but the tears are choked by love. The night is vast and my heart is cold. It's been a long time. Don't complain, just talk about joy with tears. Everything is just like a dream. A red candle is self-pitying, and a solitary lamp makes it difficult to sleep. Looking under the moon, I don’t know who is there. When I remember, no one asked, no one pitied me. Nowadays, I lie on my pillow facing the lamp and think about my sorrow. Who knows and who can listen.

One river and a bright moon, looking back who is missing. A glass of turbid wine, who will be drunk when we meet. In the spring of the year, who will be popular with peach blossoms? Looking back, who did I meet in this world? A little bit of understanding, who gave it to someone with true feelings. A word of cherishment, who is sent to by the end of the world. After some desperation, who did the fish book send to? There is a dream behind the curtain, who is thinking about someone while leaning on the railing. A night of frost and wind, snow and rain sent someone away. A low voice sings, and someone is fascinated by talent. A kind of lovesickness and leisurely sorrow for whom.

If you think about it, how many reincarnations can you gather in one cup of dust? It's like a clear dream. When I wake up, the candle in the west window is already cold. Who is setting up wine and tea under the stage in the pavilion? Who is the person wearing the gleaming white gauze? I am worried about the silence of the plum rain, and my life is drunk. Three days, three months and three years have passed in silence, but I can still go boating in the middle of the lake. Whoever stays, whoever leaves. It's noisy to rub shoulders, the apricot blossoms are endless, a cup of green wine will be spilled one day, it's ridiculous, don't sigh, looking back is already mottled, the maple blossoms are miserable, there is no trace of wind, no one pities.

The rain covers the clouds, the love is narrow and the hate is wide, the sorrowful clouds press on the water and the countryside, this wish will follow the will of God, and the jade will disappear and break. Listening to the song of picking lotuses, sadness arises again, long-lasting regret that there is no way to reach the ladder to heaven. At this time, you are drunk again, how can you see the grass outside the door growing in the wind and crying, and you have no plan for a while. How could it be all in vain? I woke up from the Jiangnan dream in the slanting wind and drizzle. Looking back at the farewell, it is better to be drunk than to wake up. When the little plum blossoms are all blooming, the willows will be sparse and the pavilion will be long. Come back and come back, come back and come back, let others go.

Out of the mountains, the remaining smoke from the jade furnace is as light as gauze. I dream back to the butterfly shelter in the bamboo garden. The new green swallows peck at the sand, the river plums are out of season and the willows are flying. The hibiscus is blooming in the water, and I smile with fragrant cheeks. Snuggle with treasure duck. Who cares about her charm and beauty? Her eyes are cut and rippled, and half of her poems are turned into jokes. The tenderness and hatred are sent to the falling flowers, and we meet in front of the wind under the shadow of the moon. Come night, make-up is removed and the face is clean, half a roll of painting is drunk under the lamp. The plum blossoms on the old branches are red and blooming, and the begonias wake up in tears from their sleep in spring.

It is difficult to end the sorrow of separation in this life, and shed tears of lovesickness in the world of mortals. Don't look back, you are so infatuated with love. If love is not heart-breaking in the end, how can it be? The love is as cold as frost every night. Pour a glass of green wine and drink up the loneliness. Little do you know that the faint loneliness makes people so embarrassed, and the road to love will be long and slow. It cannot be erased, the words are still so desolate, I am true, I am false, I am crazy, I laugh.

A flashy life, forgotten for a season. There are empty memories, disrupting the lingering. The smile is gone, and I feel lonely. String, thinking about the Chinese years. Those years suddenly seemed like a dream. Just like running water, it will never return. Don’t cry goodbye, don’t complain about final sorrow.

The remaining flowers wither, and the late flowers bloom in full bloom, trying to make up for the lack. I picked up a few clear fruits, twirled them with my hands, smelled the fragrance but frowned, it was light and bitter.

Turning around and staring, the setting sun sinks, the curtain is round, and the world of mortals bids farewell. However, the earth is silent and the sky is lonely. In front of the desk, he wrote silently, his thoughts splashed on the plain paper, speechless.

There was an orchid at that time, quiet and elegant, sitting quietly in the valley, sighing at your talent and admiring your chivalry. Standing still, getting to know each other. The friendship between gentlemen is persistent and sincere, and they believe in the beautiful friendship in the world. They seek elegance and keep it in their hearts and souls. They talk and laugh with you in the poetry of the Tang and Song Dynasties, without any dust or waves. The years are quiet and peaceful, watching the wind and clouds with a smile and looking at the clouds and smoke indifferently.

Life is like a dream, gatherings, separations and separations, mornings like spring withered flowers, how many times we are together, how many times we are separated, fate comes and goes as you please. In the blink of an eye, her black hair and black hair looked back indifferently, with a few vicissitudes of life in her heart. I shed tears alone.

The remaining clouds are green, the grass is green, and the soul is dead in the sound of returning home. There is no trace of anyone in the snow, the smoke from the stove in the quiet room behind the window is strong, the sound of the horn under the candle reminds me of the clock, and I watch the cow fight outside and the dawn is turning, the spring spirit is boundless and there is no limit to my feelings. Looking at the flowers, feeling sad and thinking about the flowers, I sigh with melancholy, who said that the old cold will leave with the wind. Even before the cold wind blows away, in the spring snow every year, I am still intoxicated by the plum blossoms.

Today or later, along the lines of time and space, who has treasured that page of silkworm cocoon paper? It is so thin, but they remember the gurgling water of Lanting River. That cup and bottle, filled with someone's expectations, passed in front of you, chanted every time, there was no silk, bamboo and sheng song, but you were intoxicated in the poetry. In late spring, the rain soaked the peach red, the petals were stained with acacia, and the willows were cut endlessly. At night, the wind blows, unable to shake the bright moon's heart, and becomes a thin hook on the horizon.

The moonlight is hazy, looking at thousands of years of flying catkins, admiring the eternal freshness. My heart is like water, my dreams are like clouds, I dance in neon clothes, and play the piano with my slender fingers, carrying the gentle sound of the years, across thousands of mountains and rivers, and resounding songs from the Song Dynasty. Singing softly, murmuring, dreaming about the water town, and the clear waves. Deep in the bamboo forest, there are hundreds of charms. Copying the faint shadows in the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River. Don't worry about the world, just listen to the sound of flowing water, dust-free.

Gently roll up the curtain, the memories of youthful beauty are scattered like clouds and smoke without a trace. When the moon falls into the water, you hold a wisp of slender moonlight and find the clearness and purity you are familiar with. Looking for a dream, one finger is dyed in purple and red, like a butterfly fluttering, holding a flower and smiling. A touch of light, a trace of tranquility, a trace of leisurelyness, a sigh, so quiet.

The dream of the end of the world can never be returned, the people are quiet, the moon is lingering, the green eyebrows are tightly knitted and the sandals are wrinkled, the robes are light and cold, and the fur is lazily embraced. The deep and heavy curtains cover the desolation, and the autumn wind sweeps away the loneliness in the courtyard. The yellow flowers you look at are thin, and the lingering fragrance of the remaining pistils is not enough. Who can see through the heartfelt memories of the past? Looking back with nostalgia, only the wind in my sleeves remains, feeling sad for my old friend.

I once said that love is not a sorrowful thing, why can’t we stay together even though we are apart from each other? At that time, we were clever and it was hard to understand fate. Love is regrettable, but love is hard to come back. Thousands of years of anticipation will eventually turn into ashes. Don’t think about it. It is just a flashy dream. In this scene, the ancient music is still heartbreaking, but the words are desolate. The world of mortals is filled with thoughts of farewell. We are so far away from each other, but it is difficult to relieve our sorrow. It is unforgettable in the end. Tears wet our clothes. Most of all, I think about it. If you are young and frivolous, you will ponder your love and hurt yourself and taste your own tears... If you don't know each other, what's the problem?

Outside the window, the dew is deeper and the smoke is lingering. I want to ask, what night is it tonight? Who is dressing up in front of the mirror in the Xiang Pavilion under the window? The wind blows and the flowers fall. The pipa sounds, the rouge rain falls, the flowers are good, the moon is good, the night is good, but in the end, the cold blue and white flowers pass one after another, leaving only foolish dreams among the flowers, which are ultimately vain. People gradually wake up, but their dreams never fade away. Longing, romance, like clouds, water, poetry, pictures, like the moon, songs, tears, illusions, like the wind, are falling and falling in the uniqueness of Jiangnan.

The moon is like a hook, half leaning against the osmanthus tree. The bottle is full of mellow wine, and there is a bunch of autumn frost. I want to talk about my thoughts but I can't stop. Drinking to drown my sorrows only adds to the frown between my brows. Late at night, when I return home from a drunken dream, the sleeves of my blue shirt are wet. The night wind doesn't know the suffering in the world, but it steals half of the lamp, filling the room with the sorrow of separation.

The cicadas are speechless when playing the Yao Qin, and the insects chirp in the evening and are elegant at night. It's twilight far away from the mountain, the light rain makes the wind dance with the sand, and it's hard to stop the pear blossoms from falling over time. The sky is as bright as spring water, and the remaining smoke from the jade furnace is as light as yarn. Dreaming back to the butterfly nesting place in the bamboo garden, fighting grass is new and green, swallows peck at the sand, river plums are out of season, willow flowers are flying, leaning against the railing at dusk in the sparse rain, only sighing at the spring flowers.

The soft sound of the orchid finger blows, and the feeling is empty and lonely without seeing you. The cold painting leaves behind broken dreams, and I pick pear blossoms and drink my tears in the rain. This evening contains the cold rhyme of Yao songs, a butterfly intoxicates the stars, and the sound of the piano is faintly melodious with plum blossoms. The maple leaves are dyed red in the night sky, for whom is the song played? A cold moon shines on my heart, and my cold clothes are hard to warm me. The shadows of butterflies are reflected in the silk gauze, and the butterflies are whispering. The golden chrysanthemums light up the lamps, and the pavilion is dyed with thoughts.

Who kisses my eyes and covers my half-life wandering; who holds my hand and eliminates my half-life loneliness; who touches my face and soothes my half-life sorrow; who holds my shoulders and It drives me into silence all my life; who can understand my intention and make me have no regrets in this life. I, the hand holding your child, will give you a lifetime of hardships; I, the kissing eyes, will give you a lifetime of affection.

I hold your jade hand and take away everything you have in this life; I, caress your beautiful neck, protect you from the wind and rain in this life.

The sleeves are waved lightly, the shadows are clear when dancing, and in the heart-breaking part of the long song, the graceful dance steps of many beauties express the tune of lamentation and despair for thousands of years. Hidden under the rich make-up, there is a tenderness, a lovesickness, an actor's shocking confession, and the eloquent statements written by many literati who have aged a lot.

The wind blows from the swing, and the slender hands are blowing through the hair. The flowers are thin and dewy, the clothes are soaked with sweat and rain, the gold hairpin holds the plain clouds, and the geese return home in shame, afraid of seeing falling flowers. The bottle of wine is strong and the drunkenness melts. The sound of the sparse bells and the wind see me off, the fragrance in my dreams lulls my soul away, and when I wake up, I feel sad in the mirror. There is snow on the temples, and red candles bloom. Under the window of the small courtyard in the spring, the heavy curtain covers all the moonlight flowers. Speechlessly looking at the horizon, who is watching the plum rain falling on the building, and who is like her under the umbrella.

A cup of tea, a brocade string, a square inkstone at one end, a scroll of ancient rhyme, and a pure heart are just like this in the ink, expressing the passage of time with a posture of no desire and no pursuit.

The love lasted in this life was not for cultivating the next life, but just for meeting you on the road. That love in this life is not for eternity, but just to be with you for the rest of my life. I was lonely in that life, not because I was waiting for new love, but because I didn’t love you in this life.

Looking back at this life, who can we rely on in this world of mortals? The so-called beauty is on the other side of the water. The beauty is hard to rely on and sheds thousands of tears! Leaning alone by the window, the moon shines on my face, looking forward to myself, feeling sad! Love is hard to cut, lovesickness is hard to break, I think about it day by day and look forward to it every night! Time flies, how can it be wasted? Beauty grows old easily, but how can one stop drinking wine? If we depend on each other, don’t leave!

Listen to the broken string and cut off those three thousand obsessions. The falling flowers are obliterated, and the wind is obliterated. If the flower is pity, it falls on whose fingertips. There are trees in the mountains, and the trees have branches. My heart is happy for you, but you don’t know it. When all the floating flowers and waves are gone, I will be alone with you. As time goes by, love never ends. The heart is like a double mesh with thousands of knots in it. Fenghua is like quicksand, and old age is like a period of time. Mountains and rivers are handed over, and I smile for you.

Life is like a dream, whose face lingers in the dream, lingering and pathos? Love and Thoughts Are Like Water Whose longings are lightly traced on the paper, lingering and poignant? How helpless and sad the mortal world is! The world says that time flows like water. Who is decorating whose dream, and who is performing whom? After thousands of sails have passed, whose story will we live in? Sigh that there are always unforgettable people in this world, knots that cannot be untied, endless feelings and incomprehensible sorrows, thoughts, loneliness, and traces for whom...

How much worldly life Passers-by, so many passing clouds, with a word of farewell, dispersed at the end of the world. Colorful butterflies dance on the sleeves of water in the breeze, and warm jade produces smoke and harp geometry; in dreams, incense is sold out and beautiful people dream, and at dawn the moon rises and they are still human; by the Qinhuai River, mandarin ducks are drunk, and osmanthus flowers fly in the palace in the sky. Drunken eyes, tears stained the beauty's face. The word "heart" is still missing, love is stranded, and life is separated, but I can never leave it behind, and I will always miss you in those passing years.