Poetry, when the dust is impermanent, dies in the spring and autumn of a hundred years. Looking back, I have worshipped everything, and the dead wood meets the spring!

Crying Xuancheng fine wine.

(Tang) Li Bai

The old spring will be brewed in Ji Minruo's grave.

Who will the wine be sold to on a night without Li Bai?

Cry first in January, my Lord

Qing Zhou Shu Ran (in memory of his dead father)

I miss my parents' tears all night and will take them back in the morning.

Afraid of hurting my mother's feelings, I secretly flowed to the pillow.

Ling Boxian Diaoqiao Mengfu

Zhong Sicheng (in memory of his dead friend)

In my life, there are few friends in the lake and the sea, and several palace merchants attach great importance to it.

What are you still fighting for after a hundred years? Air is better than snow.

Through the fairy bird road, deep around the clouds.

I want to hang a sword in front of the grave and listen to the piano on my knee.

Wandering with a harp and wine.