Ancient poems about the weather

Good rain knows the season, when spring comes.

The desert sand is like snow, and the Yanshan moon is like a hook.

Hua Lin thanked Chunhong and left in a hurry. Helpless, cold rain comes early and wind comes late.

The empty mountains are bathed in a new rain, and feel the early autumn at night.

The gentle spring breeze turns green again, but, moon in the sky, when can you take me home?

The moon, at this time is at sea, over the end of the world.

Outside the window, the flowers are dancing freely, just like in a dream, the rain is falling and drifting aimlessly, like melancholy.

Clouds poured out and poured down like ink, but a mountain range was exposed on the horizon, bright and fresh, and the splashing water was like white pearl gravel, splashing on the boat.