"Poem of Resentment (An Ancient Resentment)" Meng Jiao
Trying the concubine and the king's tears, two places dripping with pond water. Take the hibiscus flower and see who you will die for this year.
"Sadness" Meng Jiao
There are many poisonous pine trees, and it is difficult for one branch to flourish for a long time. Little did he know that Huang Tingke could not produce immortal bones.
The spring scenery is full of fragrant flowers, and the autumn wind circles the withered stems. After playing the harp but unable to make music, I begin to realize that the sound is tilted.
The old photos are changed every month in the museum, and the remaining feelings are written in honor of the guests. The boat is empty on the river, and the waves send inscriptions.
"The Song of Bitter Cold" Mengjiao
The sky is cold and the color is green, and the north wind calls withered mulberry. The thick ice has no cracks, and there is a cold light in a short day.
Knocking on the stone will not produce fire, strengthening the yin will take away the righteous yang. What can I say about the bitter tune? This chapter is composed of frozen chants.
"Miscellaneous Resentments (a work of Ancient Yuefu Miscellaneous Resentments)" by Meng Jiao
It is impossible to be sad when you remember people, for the most sad thing is empty and self-defeating. Don’t cut off your clothes when you send them to someone else, as they may not return you if you cut off your clothes.
The dynasty is like a double-pedicled flower, don’t just scatter it in all directions. The fallen flowers are still around the trees, and the wanderer doesn't care about the time.
In the early morning of the young peach blossoms, the wandering girl is red and pink. The young peach blossoms are blooming at dusk, and the wandering girls are pink.
Trees have centuries-old flowers, but people have no fixed appearance. Give flowers to people when they are old, and people will spend their time in sorrow.
A poor woman’s mirror is unclear, and her appearance is dimmed in the cold weather. The dark beetle has a virtual weave, with short threads and no long seams.
Don’t follow the waves, and don’t follow the crazy man. There are many scattered shadows in the waves, and there are many strange traces of crazy people.
If you hold on to this for a lifetime, it will become empty and full of hatred.
"The Ancient Concubine" Meng Jiao
He would not hesitate to play ten thousand strings for you. He is always afraid of the arrival of new sounds, so he sits down to make the old sounds mute.
Abandoning today’s sorrow is yesterday’s joy. It is easy to change the old into the new, but it is difficult to hold on to the old and make it new.
There are weeds in the green mountains, and the tear leaves never dry up. It is empty for future generations to gather their thoughts and thoughts.
"Farewell in Ancient Times (A Work of Farewell in Scenery)" Meng Jiao
Song mountains are shrouded in clouds, and the paths are separated by water. When the clouds go away, there will be a return day, but the water is not in season.
The fragrance of spring fills the eyes, and the beauty of spring is soft on the four limbs. Willows weave don't worry, there are thousands of threads.
"Send off to a distant place" Meng Jiao
The river water becomes dusk and morning returns, and we send each other off frequently by the river. There are tears to drink from the cup, and there are no spring branches in the willow.
A smile suddenly fades away, and all sorrows are renewed. The east wave and the west sun do not hesitate to travel far.
"Bashang's frivolous journey" Meng Jiao
There is no slow pace in Chang'an, the situation is at dusk. When we meet in Ba Chan, relatives don't care about each other.
I lament that my body is clumsy, and I suddenly follow the frivolous ethics. I am always afraid of losing what I have avoided and turning into rutted dust.
There are white hairs growing in them, and they are running fast without stopping. Poppy·Jiang Jie A young man listens to Yuge upstairs, the tent is dimly lit by red candles. A young man in his prime listens to the rain in a boat. The clouds in the river are low and the wild geese are calling in the west wind. Now I am listening to the rain at the foot of the monk's house, and there are stars on my temples. The joys and sorrows are all related to love, every step of the way till dawn. Farewell Li Shutong Outside the pavilion, beside the ancient road, the green grass reaches the sky. The evening breeze blows the willow flute and the sun sets over the mountains! At the end of the sky, at the corner of the earth, there are only a few close friends. A pot of turbid wine has exhausted all the joy, don't dream cold tonight. Recalling Qin'e and Li Qingzhao, Lingao Pavilion, the chaotic mountains and plains are thin with smoke. The smoke is thin, and after the crows return, I can hear the horns in the dusk. The fragrant fragrance is broken and the feelings are evil, the west wind urges the parasol trees to fall. The parasol trees have fallen, but the autumn colors are still there, and the loneliness is still there. Slow voice Li Qingzhao Searching and searching, deserted and miserable. It is most difficult to breathe when it is warm and then cold. Three cups and two cups of light wine are no match for him. Dawn is coming and the wind is rushing. The wild geese are passing by, and I am sad, but it is an old acquaintance. The ground is covered with yellow flowers. Who can bear the loss of greenery now? Watching the window, how can you be alone in darkness! The phoenix trees are covered with drizzle, and it rains bit by bit at dusk. This time, how could there be such a thing as "sorrow"! Spring Hope by Du Fu The country is broken by mountains and rivers, and the city is filled with deep spring vegetation. The flowers shed tears when I feel grateful, and the birds are frightened by the hatred. The war rages on for three months, and a letter from home is worth ten thousand gold. The white-headed scratches are shorter, and the hairpin is full of lust. Su Shi
Ten years of life and death are so vast that I will never forget them without thinking about them. Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, no place to speak of desolation. Even if we meet each other, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost.
At night, I suddenly returned home with a deep dream, and I was dressing up outside the small window. They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that the broken part of the intestines will be cut off every year, on a bright moonlit night, there will be short pines.