The ancient poems describing winter are as follows:
1. Jiang Xue
Don Liu Zongyuan.
a hundred mountains and no bird, a thousand paths without a footprint.
a little boat, a bamboo cloak, fishing alone in a cold boat.
2. Snow at Night
Tang Bai Juyi.
I was surprised that my pillow was cold, and I saw the window bright again.
I know the snow is heavy at night, and I can hear the sound of bamboo breaking.
3. Xuemei
Song Lu Meipo.
There is plum without snow without spirit, and there is snow without poetry.
Sunset poems are snowy all day long, and they are very spring with Mei.
4. Xuemei
Song Lu Meipo.
Mei Xue won't surrender for the sake of spring, and the poet's court wrote a comment on the pen fee.
Mei Xuxun's snow is three points white, but the snow loses a piece of plum fragrance.
5. After Snow in the Mountain
Qing Zheng Xie.
It's snowing all over the mountain when the door opens in the morning, and it's sunny and cloudy, but the sun is cold.
there is no plum blossom jelly dripping from the eaves, which is a kind of solitude.
6. Watching Snow
Song Yang Wanli.
sitting and watching the depth is much stronger, but it tends to glow cold at dusk.
I'm tired of dancing in the air, so I'm busy with a little wind.
I won't hesitate to spend all my days, and I'll call it plum blossom jade without fragrance.
if you make a soup cake, you will get rid of it.
7. Snow at Night
Tang Bai Juyi.
I was surprised that my pillow was cold, and I saw the window bright again.
I know the snow is heavy at night, and I can hear the sound of bamboo breaking.
8. a Song of White Snow in Farewell to Field-Clerk Wu Going Home
Don Cen Can.
the north wind rolls the white grasses and breaks them, and the Eighth-month snow across the Tartar sky.
is like a spring gale, come up in the night, blowing open the petals of ten thousand pear trees.
it enters the pearl blinds, it wets the silk curtains, a fur coat feels cold, a cotton mat flimsy.
bows become rigid, can hardly be drawn, everyone is cold in his armor.
the sand-sea deepens with fathomless ice, the gloom is bleak and Wan Li is condensed.
but we drink to our guest bound home from camp, and play him barbarian lutes, guitars, harps.
till at dusk, when the drifts are crushing our tents, and our frozen red flags cannot flutter in the wind.
we watch him through Wheel-Tower Gate going eastward, into the snow-mounds of Heaven-Peak Road.
and then he disappears at the turn of the pass, leaving behind him only hoof-prints.