What poems describe "thunder and rain alone"?

1. "History of Jiang Yi's Upper Wu Chu" Tang Dynasty: Jia Dao

When Fujian set sail, Toad lost his last contact.

Autumn wind gives birth to Wei water, and leaves are all over Chang 'an.

There was a party here in the evening, when it was thunderstorm and freezing.

Lan Raoshu did not return, and the news was in the clouds.

2. "Untitled East Wind Coming Misty Rain" Tang Dynasty: Li Shangyin

The wind in the east wind, the rain in the wind, the rain in the wind, the sound of light thunder came from the other side outside the lotus pond.

There is also a locked golden toad incense burner. Cigarettes are elegantly wrapped, like pulleys in a jade pot, and the traction rope is pumped into the well water.

Wang Wei dreamed that she was a beautiful young girl. Wang Wei had a pillow dream and wrote a poem.

Never-ending, even this bright flame of love will only have ashes? !

3. "Looking for Slow Voice" Song Dynasty: Li Qingzhao

Looking around, lonely and sad. It's the hardest to stop breathing when it's warm and cold.

Three glasses and two glasses of wine, how can you beat him? It's late in the wind. Guo Yan is very sad, but this is an old acquaintance.

Yellow flowers are piled all over the floor. Who can pick it now? Looking out the window, how can a person be dark?

Indus is raining in Mao Mao, dripping at dusk. This time, what a sad sentence!

4. Water Fairy Rain at Night? Yuan Dynasty: Xu Zaisi?

Accompanied by leaves and autumn sounds, a little banana and a little sadness, after the third night of dreams. ?

Snuff failed to collect chess, sighing Xinfeng's rebellion against staying for a long time. After ten years on the pillow, two old worries in Jiangnan came to mind. ?

5. "More leaks, jade furnace incense? 》? Tang Dynasty: Wen?

Jade furnace incense, red wax tears, partial according to painting hall Qiu Si. The eyebrows are thin, the eyes are thin, the clouds are residual, and the night is long and the pillow is cold. ?

Buttonwood tree, it is raining in the middle of the night, and the hobby that never leaves is bitter. A leaf, a sound, empty footsteps fall into the light.