Wangjiang floor, the solemn Temple of Marquis Wu, Huan Huaxi clear, Caotang Temple of deep and quiet, will always be retained in his wonderful memory. Spring, March, verdant willow buds burst silently, the new green should bring vitality and interest to people, but for young Guo Kaizhen fortune on the decline and felt dejected. Wangjiang upstairs, the number of poets
Who lean on a railing overlooking the Jinjiang that surging water, booze sing. But the writers, after all, scholars, among them, who would have used their own pens hanging on raging waves? The same river as the small upstairs, they gathered a group of young people today are also taking advantage of drinking joy of her Feelings. Sigh life is
Short, seize the day and in a timely manner? No! Is eloquently academic corruption, is cursing the Qing stupid. Poetess Xue Tao Tang had said to have originated in this dark red small  poetry, words and more sad, but so is anything? "Bristle, lean on a railing Department, Xiaoxiao rain break … …" It did die in battlefields like Yue